


silk

by Takykardi



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Class Differences, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Fluff, Homelessness, M/M, Minor Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Prostitution, References to Drugs, Rent boy Hyunjin, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs, University Student Han Jisung | Han, shy hyunjin, soft jisung
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 68,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26015698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Takykardi/pseuds/Takykardi
Summary: Jisung's life is comfortable. Blissful, not a single worry coating his sky. He travels through it with ease,not really giving it or anything much thought.Until, a certain twinkle-eyed blonde appears out of nowhere, and stirs it up. Then, he suddenly feels things. And then, he thinks.Then, he never stops.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin
Comments: 205
Kudos: 462
Collections: The Ultimate Hyunsung Masterlist





	1. cold smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Hi : )
> 
> This thing has been brewing inside me for some time, and now it shall see the light of day. Expect lots of Hyunsung angst with some alleviating, shameless fluff and all that goodness (๑￫ܫ￩)
> 
> Notes:  
> (1) There might be other warnings as the story progresses [no major archive warnings though, except perhaps light violence]  
> (2) Main characters have been aged up a few years. Jisung - 21, Hyunjin - 22, and other side characters accordingly  
> (3) Rated E for eventual soft smut but there'll only be chunks of it in some chapters  
> Well that's enough ranting. No warnings for now except for some slight language.
> 
> Ty for reading, if you do ♡ would be happy to hear what you thought
> 
> Disclaimer; this work is purely fictional

The wind was icy cold as it made its way down a murky street in the very edge of Seoul, and Jisung glanced at his wrist watch for the hundredth time. 

Felix was already twenty minutes late. Nice.

His teeth clattered as he dug his phone out to tap a quick message. Damn typical. Early spring months in Seoul, always cold, always damp. At least it had stopped raining, but the air was still infused with a humidity that clung to his clothes, and the streets were still littered with glistening pools.

And Jisung would much rather be at home in his lofty apartment right now, curled under the covers with Netflix, than here.

 **Jisung:** Felix, where the hell are you? Get your ass here asap or I’ll beat the shit out of you, swear. It’s cold as fuck [10:35 PM]

He shoved the phone back into his pocket with a low grumble. Dusk had fallen long ago, and this area was sketchy to say the least. The first and only reason to why he was here was that he was shit at saying no. 

Well, okay, there was another reason. Felix could be very bossy when he had his mind set on something. Bossy and completely ignorant earlier, to Jisung's attempts to explain why a metal gig at some obscure-sounding club might not be an ideal Friday night activity.

“Oh come on, it’ll be great. It's been ages, time to get out of your comfort zone a little. Enough k-pop and cosmopolitans at Le Chamber, we need to experience what the grittier parts of Seoul have to offer,” had been Felix’s sales pitch, but Jisung had remained skeptical.

“You don’t even like metal,” he’d pointed out, but he might as well have been talking to a (very stubborn) wall. A quick google search had left him wrinkling his nose. Definitely didn’t look like his music taste. He couldn’t even pronounce the name of the group, and their attire suggested that their music was fast-paced, guttural, and ear-splitting.

Jisung was ready to admit it had been a rough week, but this wasn’t his idea of pleasant unwinding. He’d proposed they hit the clubs in Gangnam instead, as per usual. Sip a little, mingle a little, dance a little.

But nope, Felix had disregarded every single meek protest, and chipperly ended the call with “I won’t take no for an answer! This might be the start of your love for metal! Bye! See you at 10:15 PM!”

Lovely. So, here Jisung stood. In a seedy neighborhood he’d never in his wildest dreams think of stepping foot in otherwise. The asphalt, the buildings, everything around him was stained with graffiti and what must – undoubtedly – be pee and probably a whole plethora of other bodily fluids.

Nope, definitely not his part of town.

Faint laughter and pounding music was audible around the corner. The party was in full swing by the sounds of it, but he wasn’t about to enter without Felix though. No way. 

He was also painfully aware that he was almost laughably overdressed for a metal gig. He could already picture it in his head, how the clubbers, old, seasoned metal fans, would stare him down and judge his light wash jeans and neatly ironed shirt.

Damn it. Could at least have worn a black instead of a baby blue silk shirt.

Well, too late now. And what the _hell_ was taking Felix so long? Had he been smushed by a falling piano or something?

Just as Jisung silently cursed his name and his entire family, his phone buzzed in his pocket to signal a response.

 **Felix:** Ahh no don’t beat my ass, couldn’t find keys! Will be another 20min, soz! [10:45 PM]

Oh, wonderful. So Jisung had another twenty (probably closer to thirty if his estimation was correct) minutes of freezing his butt off to look forward to. 

Movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention suddenly, and he turned to lay eyes on a group of women gathered in a heap a short distance from him. He squinted to have a better look at them. Yep – they definitely looked like so-called “ladies of the night”. Their outfits – thigh high boots, short skirts and heavy makeup – was enough of an indicator.

So this was _that_ kind of neighborhood. He felt a pang in his chest when he saw them walking towards a couple of cars in the distance, most likely in search of customers. These streets couldn't be safe for anyone to stand around in, and it wouldn’t surprise him if some hunched creature walked up to sell him drugs any time now. He probably looked like the perfect customer, too...rich, and easy to fool, considering how fidgety and out of place he must appear.

Just as he’d decided that the club might be a preferable place to wait after all, there was a tentative tap on his shoulder. He jolted, before swinging around – and next he found himself standing eye to eye with a young man. With chin-length, wavy blonde hair collected in a ponytail. And a friendly, lopsided smile that made Jisung tingle. Pleasantly. With all kinds of soft emotions. 

He blinked dumbly, and was instantly hit by a rambled apology.

“Woah, sorry...didn’t mean to startle you...sorry, just saw you here alone, so I thought you might want –”

“Uh, want...what?” 

Jisung’s question hung in the air as he regarded the blonde, clueless as to what he might want. His face was illuminated by the street light, dark eyes unfocused, smudged with eyeliner, and...intense. Yeah. Very intense, big and expressive. He scratched his head, before finally mustering up enough courage to finish the sentence.

“Just wondered if you’re here for, you know...if you want a...blow job.”

The words registered, but Jisung just stared at the guy for a good minute before the content of them dawned on him. A blow job? He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or feel offended or what reaction was even appropriate right now. Did he look like someone who _pays_ for blow jobs?

The utter perplexion must have been visible on his face, because the blonde’s smile slowly melted off him, along with the self-assured expression. Jisung shook himself out of his brain fog finally, not succeeding in stifling a disbelieving chuckle.

“From _you?”_ This was just so random. “No, I most certainly do _not_ want a blow job, thank you very much.”

He hadn’t intended for it to sound so bitingly condescending, but it did. There was a brief silence. The features in front of him drooped, the shoulders sagged. Suddenly he looked even shorter than Jisung, even though he appeared to be a good four inches taller.

Well, shit. Maybe that came out too harsh.

He didn’t have time to rectify it, though, before the mumbled retort confirmed his hypothesis.

“No need to be rude. Sorry for bothering you.”

The wind made a comeback as he dragged himself away from Jisung, who was left standing with his brows furrowed, unsure of what just happened. He was still reeling, preoccupied with asking himself if it really was _that_ obvious he swung that way – that he was _gay_. 

Was it? 

Apparently, since male rent boys had no qualms about offering him sexual favors. And now baby blue felt like even worse of an idea.

This was a weird night. If only Felix would get here already to save him from all this debauchery.

He raised an eyebrow when a series of scratching noises reached him from the right. The blonde was now cross-legged on the asphalt, leaning against the dirty tile wall and failing to light a cigarette. The wind put it out constantly, and he had to finally admit defeat.

Jisung stole another look at him. He’d closed his eyes now, hands laying limply in his lap, head resting against the wall.

_Cute._

The moment that thought crossed his mind, he found his feet moving almost on their own accord, while his fingers were busy hauling out his own lighter from his pocket. 

“Here, you can use mine,” he offered, voice trembling slightly. Doe eyes framed by thick lashes zapped open, blinking a couple times before zeroing in on Jisung’s extended hand. Bushy eyebrows arched upwards, a smile gradually overtaking plush lips. Because they _were_ plush, Jisung could tell even though half of his face was veiled in shadow due to the streetlight. 

He was _cute_. He couldn’t deny that the guy was fucking cute.

“Wow, that’s...so nice of you.”

He timidly accepted the lighter, flipping it over in his hands a couple times. “I’m trying to stop, but you know how it is, eh…” he added once he’d taken the first puff and blown a well-rounded smoke circle into the chilly air. “Thanks for the loan.”

Jisung didn’t catch the end of the sentence. He was too engulfed, staring – and it wasn’t until he saw the outstretched hand and heard the words repeated a second time that he snapped out of it.

“Oh, no, it’s fine, just keep it. I have a thousand of those. I always lose them and then end up buying a constant armada of new ones.” 

“Really? Thanks…do you want one?”

“No...no thanks, I don’t smoke. Just like to keep one on me, just in case.”

The other male nodded, withdrawing his hand, and lowered his gaze to stare at the lighter like it was the world’s greatest treasure. Jisung watched the shy smile make an appearance again. 

The insides of his chest felt like warm, mushy goo when he saw it.

What time was it even? Where was Felix? He had no idea anymore.

The bare arms had caught his attention – the sleeveless, black shirt he was wearing with ripped jeans and well-worn converse, an outfit not very suitable for ruthless March temperatures. Not to mention, his limbs were _lanky,_ pale skin knotting with goosebumps as the wind assaulted both of them again. Jisung could tell even from afar, and the mere sight made him shiver.

“Don’t you have a coat? It’s like...really fucking freezing, you shouldn’t be out here in just a t-shirt.” 

“Oh, yeah, tell me about it...it was stolen,” came the dejected answer. “This area isn’t exactly safe, and...yeah...they took all my shit, basically. Sleeping bag, the lot. I’ll be fine though.”

He curled in on himself, shoulders hunched but bright smile in place to emphasize that statement. Jisung regarded him a moment, a million thoughts he had never foreseen racing through his mind. 

Like, how long would he stay out here. And other, very crucial questions. Such as how likely was it that he'd be mugged again...and how many clients had he seen this evening…and how many more would he end up going through, and…

...and Jisung found himself, oddly enough, quite _alarmed._ Despite knowing this individual for less than fifteen consecutive minutes.

“Here, take my coat,” he stated resolutely, pulling it off. He was met by instant opposition, which he took absolutely no notice of.

“What? _No_ , no way, I can’t possibly –”

“Yes. Take it. I don’t need it...I’ll probably catch a cab home.”

The blonde sank in on himself, capitulating with a grumpy sigh. Jisung couldn’t help but notice how adorable he looked when his lips squeezed into a pout.

“Fine, shit...thanks a bunch, really. So, uhm...are you here for that metal gig? At the club around the corner?”

“Oh...yeah. I was just waiting for my friend to get here, when you…”

He let the sentence trail off, witnessing the other shrink in on himself as he did. It bothered him that the self-confidence from earlier was nowhere to be found now, and he almost looked...embarrassed. 

“I’m really sorry for disturbing you, or...making you uncomfortable. It wasn’t my intention.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” Jisung hurried to assure. “Don’t worry. You did nothing wrong. It’s okay, I’m the one who should apologize. But, so...is this your...job? I mean...are you a full-time…”

“Sex worker?”

He was glaring at Jisung now, defiance visible in the dark irises, the air electric between them. At the same time he also looked to be twitching nervously, as if he expected to be spit in the face or something. 

Jesus. All of it made Jisung slightly nauseous, but also determined to watch his tongue from now on.

“Yeah. That’s what I was about to say.”

“Mhm...yep,” came the mumbled affirmation. “Also an occasional stripper. You can go ahead and judge now. Based on your reaction and your attire, these aren’t exactly your hoods.”

Jisung digested that statement, and the underlying bitter tone. Yeah, they weren’t. He looked at his own, expensive peacoat, purchased from one of the high end malls in Gangnam, now wrapped around this young hooker’s scrawny shoulders.

“Wasn’t gonna judge. It’s not my business, but uhm…”

He hesitated. Uhm what? He had a bunch of things he wanted to say to this guy. _Come home with me instead,_ was the most pressing one. Followed by... _why are you doing this?_

 _Why? Don’t stay out here, it’s cold. Don’t give head to strangers, it’s dangerous. Don’t get robbed_ , don’t…

...don’t do this. 

The inner battle continued, and the doe eyes were plastered on him. But fuck. What right did he have to tell this guy what to do, like some cringy poster boy for virtuous living.

“...I’m Jisung, by the way,” he finally blurted, and received an amused smile in return.

“Hello Jisung. I’m…”

He managed to slip out what sounded like a _H_ , but then he quietened. Jisung observed him chew on a nail, bite his lip in hesitation.

“...I’m Hyunjin.”

Just as the last syllable rolled off his tongue, a hand curled around Jisung’s shoulder. He was rotated 180 degrees, and the plump lips he’d been so captivated by were switched out to Felix’s toothy grin and thundering baritone.

“Hello! Ya boi is finally here! Sorry it took an eternity, thanks for waiting though...traffic was crazy…where’s your coat?”

“Oh, it’s um…uh...is that a Metallica t-shirt?”

“Yes, Jisung, it's a Metallica t-shirt. I'm trying to assimilate, okay. Anyway, let’s go, chop chop, gig is starting soon.”

Felix, clad in black and very enthusiastic to get going, didn’t wait for a reply. He was seemingly too amped up to take any notice of Hyunjin, but as Jisung was tugged along he threw a look over his shoulder, and saw the blonde scrambling to his feet. He saw him raise a shy hand at him in farewell. 

And he didn’t even have time to stop and wave back.

Soon he found himself inside the crammed club, busy avoiding being stepped on by steel-toed boots and following Felix as he elbowed his way through the crowd. Damn it. He hadn’t remembered to bring earplugs, and the gig turned out to be torture both for him and his poor ears.

Hyunjin wouldn’t leave his thoughts, and he desperately wanted to just jostle his way back outside – but soon it was near impossible. Felix had dragged him all the way to the front row, and it didn’t take long until they were completely surrounded. From all sides, by screaming and chanting metalheads, and this definitely was _not_ enjoyable.

“Okay, metal might not be my thing after all,” Felix announced when it was finally over, and the crowd scattered to let them through. 

_“You think?_ God, this is the last time I’m letting you decide _anything_ …”

Jisung stormed towards the exit, leaving a tutting Felix behind. This had been a monumental failure, an absolute waste of two hours, and he was irritated, hungry – and concerned. Concerned and very keen on rushing outside again.

“ _Jisung,_ wait up, where the hell are you going? Cabs are this way –”

He could hear Felix behind him as he flung himself around the corner, eyes darting to the spot Hyunjin had been flopped down on – but he was nowhere to be seen. It was barren, and so was the rest of the street. And the anxious knot in Jisung’s gut grew tenfold.

The guy talked about his sleeping bag being stolen. Did that mean he was _homeless?_ Where the hell would he even sleep?

And why did Jisung almost cry when realizing he had no way of finding out?

“Jisungie! Are you coming?!”

Felix was getting increasingly irritable. He’d successfully waved down a cab, and Jisung was forced to climb in. He remained aloof as he stared out the window during the ride home. The city was saturated with the jeering of drunken citizens and other blinking, late night mayhem, but there was no sight of any slim, blonde guys with radiant smiles anywhere.

Well, okay. There were loads. But _that_ one was nowhere to be seen.

“Why the fuck did I let him leave,” Jisung asked no one in particular once he lay in the darkness of his bedroom, buried under the fluffy duvet. Why. Why didn’t he stay. But what would he even have done if he did?

Asked the ball of cute to come home with him? The nearly six foot ball of cute that probably was a walking ball of STD’s as well.

_What the hell Jisung._

He instantly berated himself for being so callous, assuming things based on nothing. Seoul, just like all concrete jungles, had its fair share of drug dealers, prostitutes and other libertines, but he was unfamiliar with it all. His childhood in one of the more lavish areas of the city meant he’d stayed a safe distance from the darker parts of town.

And all he was left with following his first ever encounter with it, was an odd, unidentified feeling. A feeling screaming at him that he _shouldn’t_ have left. 

The guy had looked Jisung’s age, for christ’s sake. 

Twenty-something, young and cold and hunkering in street corners, selling himself...to slimy, untrustworthy people.

That part of town really gave Jisung the creeps, but despite all this, he already knew. He would be returning there. If only to check if the guy might make an appearance again, to make sure he hadn’t bloody _freezed_ to death...god, no. 

He didn’t even want to think about that possibility.

Hopefully he'd at least find some shelter, in case it was about to rain again. This was Jisung’s last thought before he drifted off, with the image of Hyunjin’s smile lingering in his mind.


	2. no frills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi :)
> 
> Going on a week long trip tomorrow and won't have access to the internetz most the time, so slapping this chapter up now since I'd pre-written it.  
> No warnings, except for slight language.
> 
> A big thank you for all the overwhelmingly positive feedback I received on the first chapter. Warms the heartu ♡ Hope you like this one.
> 
> Ty for reading, take care ♡

**Mom** : Hello darling! Don’t forget lunch tomorrow at our place! 1PM sharp. Make sure to wear the purple shirt grandma got you, I know you think it’s hideous, but it will make her happy. Love, your mother. [14:35 PM]

Jisung groaned, chucking the phone to the side and sinking down into the welcoming sheets again. How could he forget lunch when it was _weekly._ At one in the afternoon, every Sunday, for the last...well. He couldn’t even remember, that’s how long.

Sumptuous get-togethers, overflowing with Chardonnay and sparkling chandeliers and the barking laughter of...Felix. Fortunately. Because he and his parents were longtime friends of the Han family, and thank god for that. Jisung sometimes risked falling asleep in his soup du jour when the gatherings dragged on...and on...and on...for hours.

But Felix, a constant godsend in his life, had saved him from being lectured many times, by discreetly kicking him in the shins under the table to keep him awake.

And he would attend, once more, of course he would. The purple frilly thing his grandma got him (a hideous abomination indeed) lay draped over a chair at the other side of the bedroom, ready to be worn.

Frilly shirts and fancy lunches. Somehow all of that appeared so trivial now. Just unimportant background noise, obscuring his view and his main concern.

Hyunjin. 

He’d been on Jisung’s mind the moment he pried his eyes open, after a night of restless tossing and turning. That’s also why he’d slept to way past noon. Worst case scenarios had haunted his dreams, images of questionable individuals lurking and preying on good-natured blondes, vulnerable youngsters without any way of protecting themselves. He might have a mean kick, what the hell did he know, but some parts of town were still unsafe at night.

He cringed himself out of bed, ripping the curtains open. Looked like another crisp, picture perfect day, with pillowy clouds brushing past on the horizon.

But it wasn't even three PM yet. Was it too early to head back to try to locate him again?

He didn’t want to seem like some sketchy creep, the guy must have his fair share of them as it was. And he had no idea about the working hours of prostitutes. This was probably way too early, he might not even be there yet. 

Yeah. Probably should wait until later.

Then again...he could also be laying in a ditch somewhere, suffering acute hypothermia.

That bone-chilling thought is what made Jisung stumble into the shower and straight to his closet afterwards, to rip out some jeans and the first t-shirt he lay eyes on (a much more casual one than the baby blue creation from yesterday) and hastily down a coffee before grabbing his car keys. Screw early. Hyunjin might be a frozen icicle by now, because the thin layer of frost covering the windows earlier told him last night had been doomsday _cold._

Just before he left, he caught himself peeking into the mirror above the hall table, trying to smooth out the still-damp, dark strands of his hair. Until he realized what he was doing, that is – and then he instantly ruffled it into a crows nest again.

What the hell. He wasn’t going there to _woo_ the guy.

Even though...a tiny (or kinda huge) part of him definitely wanted to do exactly that, but he roughly silenced it before it could start scheming with any inappropriate plans.

Head on over and find the guy and...do...something. What, he wasn’t sure yet, but he wanted to _help_ him. Thatwas the plan. Nothing else.

He finally made it out, but his pesky neighbor, Mrs Kwan, all but attacked him when he was nearly at the bottom floor, with annoying chit chat about his recent academic accomplishments.

“I saw that piece you wrote on the changes in the stock market, it was mentioned in the paper! How absolutely magnificent!”

“Uh, yeah, thanks Mrs Kwan, but I’m in a little bit of a hurry...I’m very sorry, excuse me…”

He managed to escape, but the next obstacle arrived very soon, in the form of a pink-cheeked bundle of joy named Lee Minho. Appearing out of thin air, he was an inch away from colliding with Jisung when he swung the front door open to rush outside.

“ _What the hell, doofus_ –”

“Woahhh! Is something on fire?!”

Minho managed to grab him just before he took an ungraceful nosedive into the asphalt. Once he regained his composure, Jisung assured him, grumpily, that _nothing_ was on fire, but that he was busy and _Minho_ would be the one fire in just a moment unless he moved his butt out of the way – but no. That was apparently too much to ask for, and soon he was impatiently tugging on Jisung's sleeve while he did his best to slither towards his car.

“Okay, but wait, I wanted to ask if you want to go shopping in Gangnam? We can go pick up Felix too.”

“No, don’t have time, okay, so –”

“But I really want to check out that new shop in –”

“ _Minho_. We can go shopping in Gangnam any day, okay. Gangnam is literally just around the corner and it won’t go up in flames anytime soon.”

He shook him a little for good measure, rolling his eyes when he just pouted like an unhappy kid.

“It might. And I really need your opinion on this one shirt I was gonna buy –”

"Shut! No! Enough with the consumerist attitude. Go recycle or something, I’m busy."

Silence. A car honked angrily, stuck in a traffic jam next to them, and Minho's brows were so heavily furrowed that his eyes had basically disappeared into them.

"Jisung...are you feeling okay? Did you join a cult or something?"

"Yes. That's it. I joined a cult. Now shoo, I have cult business to attend to."

He didn’t scatter like dust in the wind like Jisung hoped. Instead he reluctantly edged into motion, trudging next to him as he strode in the direction of his car, while simultaneously casting very puzzled sideways glances at him.

"So...will you grow a beard and move out in the woods like a forest fairy and say adios to all things materialistic?"

"Yes."

Minho squealed, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Sweet, can I have your huge ass TV and surround sound system then?"

"Yes– _no._ You can't. Donating it to the poor."

"You must be running a fever, man."

"Okay. I need to leave though, so...oh, come on... _knock it off.”_

He parried Minho's hand as he attempted to feel his forehead. What the hell was this? Was it _that_ weird for him to say no to shopping?

Maybe it was, but shopping was at the bottom at the list of his priorities right now.

"I’m going, and _you.”_ He placed both hands on Minho’s shoulders, and smiled sweetly at him. “Catch you later. Don’t forget to finish your part of the economics project, it’s due on Monday."

It took a little more convincing and wrangling back and forth, but Minho relented at last. He backed off, holding both hands up in the air with a confused wrinkle still marring his forehead. 

"Alright, alright. But you’re acting very strange. And a beard won't suit you, tell you that. Your face is a little too lumpy. Or maybe that means a beard is actually a good idea, to you know...hide the lumpy bits..."

"Goodbye, Minho!"

"Give the rest of the hippies my best!"

He threw one last sly grin Jisung’s way before turning and sauntering down the street. Jisung remained on the spot for a moment, huffing. You couldn't even get a moment's peace around here, not from chatty neighbors or from overly clingy friends. 

Just as he was about to climb into his car, he happened to catch sight of the Starbucks next to his building. He gave it some thought. How weird would it be to pick up a coffee to give to the kid when...if...he found him?

Maybe not too weird.

* * *

The sleazy neighborhood he was headed to was actually only a twenty minute drive away from his apartment in Yongsan, but when he arrived, he realized they might as well be located in two different universes.

The tall piles of trash and peeling facades of run down buildings signaled his arrival. It looked even worse now, in the merciless light of day, than it had yesterday when it was only partially lit and mostly bathing in darkness. And Jisung discovered, to his dismay, that the whole area looked worryingly desolate now, the only sign of movement a ripped up bag flapping around on the empty street as he rolled down it.

Damn it. He didn’t have the slightest clue where to look if not here.

But he parked the car nonetheless – and as he squinted around himself, he saw a woman with long, raven hair loitering in a corner outside a nearby bar. Not that he wanted to be judgemental, but she did look a lot like one of the aforementioned ladies of the night. He weighed his options for a moment, but finally decided to test his luck. Couldn’t hurt.

As he approached, her fiery red lips stretched into a friendly smile.

“Hello pumpkin, what can I do for you?”

“Uhm, hello...wondering if you’ve seen a...tall-ish young man, about this height...” He raised a hand in the air, a few inches above his head to demonstrate. “...blonde, and kind of skinny...around here somewhere?”

A little suspicious flicker played in her kohl-lined eyes, and she took several thoughtful puffs of her cigarette while staring him up and down. But then she apparently came to the conclusion he looked trustworthy and harmless enough, and the amiable smile returned.

“Guess you mean Hyunjin. Yeah...he’s asleep in the alley just around the corner over there.”

She pointed, and Jisung thanked the skies above. He found him easily, and soon he stood hovering over his sleeping form, and wondering if an alley reeking of dirt and rotting fish really was an ideal place for a nap. 

But christ almighty. He looked so peaceful where he lay, resting on a collection of wet cardboard. Curled up in fetal position with Jisung’s coat acting as a blanket, features smoothed out and small, wheezy snores escaping him ever so often. The blonde hair was fanned out like a halo around him, a little splash of light in the middle of the grey, soggy environment.

Maybe he was deep in a dream somewhere, floating away on a fluffy cloud, and oblivious to the hard ground he was laying on. Jisung hoped so.

He crouched down, carefully – but as he did, his sneakers happened to dig into some gravel, and Hyunjin’s eyes flew open following the sudden crunching noise. He scrambled backwards immediately, and Jisung watched in horror as his head collided with the rough tile wall behind him.

“Please don’t hurt me – _ow,_ _fuck_ –”

“ _Woah_...calm down, I’m not gonna hurt you,” Jisung hurried to soothe, throwing his arms up and backing up slightly. “Jesus – sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you...it’s um...me, Jisung, from yesterday. Do you remember? That was a pretty nasty slam, is your head okay?”

The hand he attempted to reach out was easily dodged, much to his chagrin. Hyunjin wrapped the coat – Jisungs black peacoat – around himself as he blinked drowsily, digging remnants of sleep from his eyes. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, yeah. Of course I remember. What...what are you doing here?”

He still looked to be stuck in fight or flight-mode, eyes next to feral and following Jisung’s every move. Regret pooled into him. What an idiot he was, waking up a sleeping guy who’d just told him yesterday he’d been _robbed_ – possibly at gunpoint, or while asleep, what the hell did he know. 

“God, I really am sorry,” he groaned apologetically. “I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that, I just wanted to see you, and...I brought you a coffee, and uh, a blanket. Hold this while I dig it out."

His hand was extended again, much like yesterday, and Hyunjin regarded the tall cup in the same exact manner as the lighter. Like it was a foreign object from another planet, and Jisung was the alien who blessed him with it.

“For...me?”

“Yeah, duh. Take it.”

He didn’t accept it until Jisung had nodded and assured him about a million times that it was okay. Then, he took the smallest, tentative sip, and lit up ever so slightly as he did. So did Jisung’s heart.

It was basically set aflame the moment he saw that bright smile again.

“Thanks, I haven’t had Starbucks for so long. I don’t even know what to say.”

Jisung had to parrot _pleasure is all mine,_ around a dozen times more and smile encouragingly, before Hyunjin settled, folding his long legs to continue happily sipping his drink. He raised his gaze to peer at Jisung occasionally, only to lower it bashfully again a second later when their eyes locked.

And Jisung melted, bit by bit.

While slurping noises echoed in the small space, he studied him discreetly where he sat, slumped against the wall with the grimy tile backdrop towering over him.

It didn’t look right. He looked like a fragile flower blooming solo in a dark, perilous forest, devoid of any sunlight. And he still appeared to be freezing. Jisung caught the barely noticeable tremors, the way his fingers clenched around the cup a little too tightly.

“Is this really the best place to sleep?”Jisung questioned. Hell, he was basically in plain sight, and visible to cars rushing past. “I mean…you could easily get mugged again.”

“I know, but well...it's not like I have much worth stealing now. And I was just so damn tired, so I dozed off.” 

To illustrate just how tired, he wiped another little gob of sleep out of the corner of his eye, and yawned. Yeah. Sleepy was definitely the word, and witnessing it didn’t exactly lessen Jisung’s worries. 

“Right, I get that, but you didn’t...you didn’t sleep here last night, right?”

“Oh, no, or um. Nearby. There’s an abandoned warehouse a few blocks away, I crash there occasionally...the roof leaks a little bit and it’s kind of gross, but....”

The corners of his mouth dropped momentarily, but he hiked them up quickly again with a hint of a chuckle. “...but eh, it’s alright. So, how was the gig? Nice?”

“Nah...it was actually pretty shit,” Jisung admitted. He'd definitely made sure to hand Felix’s ass to him before they said their goodbyes yesterday. “I was so pissed at my friend afterwards...I mean, the music was just growling. And it was packed full of sweaty, headbanging people. I almost got socked in the face a few times.”

“It sounded rough, yeah. Kinda broke my eardrums and I was standing all the way outside, that’s why I left.”

The smile he offered Jisung made him ache a little, because it looked artificial now. Coupled with the subject change, it was easy to guess why. The rain had returned last night, saturating the air with an icy chill that must have seeped right into Hyunjin’s very bones. He looked a little glossy-eyed and red-nosed too, and he was sniffling softly. Well, not that surprising, if he’d spent the night on rain-soaked concrete.

And Jisung’s own king size bed, with lush, midnight blue pillows and sheets, lay unmade at home. The king size bed bought for him by his _parents_. 

The juxtaposition was real, slapping him right in the face, and so was the realization that followed right afterwards. 

He just wanted to bring this boy home, right now. Like he was some stray puppy. Get him comfy, fed, warm...safe. He really did. And he didn’t care one iota about what his parents...or his friends...or anyone else might have to say about that.

But despite sounding like a perfectly reasonable idea in his head, he also understood it might come off just a little bit...creepy _._ Creepy and like he planned on purchasing the services this _prostitute_ was offering, when he didn’t want him to think that at all. 

Even though...he didn’t want others to buy them either. But the guy needed to make money somehow.

Would it be odd to just shove a fat wad of cash into his hands?

God. This was too difficult of a moral conundrum. Jisung pinched the bridge of his nose, doing his utmost to not let the suggestion slip.

“Yeah, I noticed you were gone when I got out. I was a little worried. Don’t you have anywhere else you can –”

A very audible rumble cut him off, coming from Hyunjin’s tummy. He quickly slapped a hand over it, and straightened out his posture as a faint blush colored his cheeks a charming pink.

“Ah...I'm sorry...” 

Jisung frowned, unnerved by the constant insecure tinge in his voice. “Don’t worry, so I guess you didn't have breakfast yet? Are you hungry?”

Well duh, of course he was hungry, his gut had just screamed at a thousand decibels. Jisung noticed that the black sleeveless shirt had been switched out to a white t-shirt now, tucked into the same ripped jeans as yesterday. They looked a few sizes too big. And his knees, peeking out of the cavities, looked too bony. 

And Jisung wasn’t about to just let that fact slide.

“No, I’m fi –”

“Could I take you somewhere to eat?”

He was hopeful, and Hyunjin was back to looking like he was an extraterrestrial. But heck, he was ready to _drag_ this guy by his feet to the closest restaurant – but he ended up not having to. It took forever, and Jisung had to cajole him into moving with yet another repeated stream of _it’s really no problem at all,_ and reassurances that he was starving too. 

But it worked, and some ten minutes later he was headed towards the city center, with a very bewildered Hyunjin riding shotgun.

“What the actual – this car is _sick_.”

“Oh...it’s uh...just a...not that big of a...thanks.”

His ears heated up while Hyunjin’s gaze kept wandering over the shining leather interior. Owning a shamelessly flashy car didn't usually faze him, but now it just kind of made him feel...yeah. He had to admit it.

Like a spoiled brat. 

And he didn’t even pay a dime for it. 

“Sorry,” Hyunjin said suddenly, letting out a nervous laugh. “...if I...uhm. I hope I don’t smell, I didn’t shower yet. I will later when I go to...work.”

He sounded bothered to say the least, and Jisung's eyes zapped to him in surprise. A homeless person apologizing for potentially smelling, that was just...needless, and also kind of heartbreaking. 

And wait. 

He’d said... _work?_

That must mean strip club. It was a Saturday, and he’d mentioned it after all. Jisung’s grip on the wheel tightened.

Nope. This guy working at a strip club didn’t sit well with him. Didn’t sit well with him at all. Actually it made his gut churn with an array of different negative emotions all at once – stinging sympathy, and sickening disgust at the thought of old, horny guys perving at him.

Next he became aware of the fact that Hyunjin was still looking at him, his fingers vacantly playing with a thread in the rips in his pants. 

“Oh. Sorry, zoned out a while...no, you don’t. You’re fine, you smell...great. Don’t worry.”

Hyunjin raised a dubious eyebrow. Jisung decided to just pump the gas, and shut his face for now.

* * *

The slightly awkward atmosphere continued all the way into the diner that he picked out. Once they arrived, Hyunjin followed him inside quietly like a shadow, slumping down by a table in the very back.

Jisung thought he looked much better leaning against the soft red vinyl of the seat than against a dirty wall – but he took note of how jumpy he seemed. Nervous, and wouldn't stop flicking his eyes all over the place as if he was scanning it for threats. 

It was disconcerting to say the least. Jisung tried his best to look unthreatening (not that he thought he looked very threatening anyways, with his adorably "squishy face" as Felix so eloquently put it) to avoid giving the idea that he had any...ulterior motives. It appeared to work, and the rest of the customers mellow chatter seemed to help Hyunjin relax, if only slightly.

“So...just get whatever you want from the menu, okay.” Jisung grabbed one for himself, and pushed the other over to Hyunjin’s side with a smile. “On me.”

After a while of scouring the menu he looked up, surprised to see Hyunjin just sitting there like a human question mark, with his own one untouched before him.

“What’s up? Are you okay?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course. Get anything you want.”

Hyunjin’s stiff expression finally, finally loosened. His entire face crinkled up into a raisin, eyes turning into dark slits when he cracked the widest, purest smile Jisung had ever seen. It was like rainbow confetti sprinkled all over him, and the surroundings, and then, he was done for. He knew right fucking then.

He never wanted it to be wiped off again.

“Thanks. You’re so nice,” Hyunjin mumbled, and the confetti was accompanied by wild leaping and cheering in Jisung’s chest.

They chatted a while, until their orders arrived. Jisung kept it safe, just throwing in random questions about the weather, Hyunjin's favorite colors (black and white), his favorite music (kpop and rap) and other, shallow things to which he received reserved answers coupled with shy glances. But, Hyunjin munched on his food, and the tension unfurled – until, Jisung uttered an urgent question he just couldn’t keep at bay.

“Sorry for asking again, but...is there really nowhere else you could sleep? Nowhere else to go? Than the streets?”

He watched Hyunjin’s features instantly turn rigid, almost pained _,_ as if someone was sticking invisible pins and needles into his skin.

It was painful to witness, too. Like seeing a beautiful canvas suddenly smudged and ripped to shreds.

"I'm sorry," Jisung said, earnestly. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to dig around in your business. I know we barely even know each other, and –" 

"It's okay. It sucks, but...” Hyunjin picked up his drink, hiding behind it as he drew a laboured breath. "...but...no. I mostly just sleep outside. It is what it is, you know. Just kinda can't afford my own place, but uh..."

He scratched his head, looking like he was at absolute war with himself. Glancing to the sides, and lowering his voice when he continued so Jisung had to lean forward to even hear him.

"... sometimes I sleep at work. At the strip club. The owner has spare rooms, but I don't really want to crash there too often...cause..."

He stumbled on the last word, swallowing repeatedly, and Jisung didn’t dare breathe. But then Hyunjin apparently decided to just backtrack on whatever he’d been about to spill, and let out an awkward laugh instead.

"...just, uh yeah, anyway. So uhm, are you a –"

"Is that really your only option? I mean is there really no other thing you could, uh…”

Jisung slammed his mouth shut. He wished he could just muzzle himself, but instead question after poking question just kept falling out of him. Even though he could tell this was a burningly sensitive topic.

 _Good job, Mr tactless fucking genius._ He watched, with an inwardly sigh, as the needles pinched at Hyunjin’s cheeks again.

"I wish, but...no. This is kinda the only option for me right now, because of…”

He bit his lip, shaking his head. “...it...just...is."

No further information was provided. And Jisung should never even have brought it up. 

"Hyunjin, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Hyunjin reassured him it was all good, but it clearly wasn’t. Because Jisung got absolutely nada out of him after that faux pas. He had to settle for tentative nodding to all his questions, and an almost longing, melancholic glimmer in his eyes, when Jisung confirmed he was a college student.

“Yeah, I study economics and business management.”

“For real? You must have busted your ass to get in there. That's so cool.” 

Jisung wasn’t so sure about that. Sounded pretty lame to him now that he thought about it. But he rambled some more uninteresting crap about his classes, and Hyunjin gave him his sparkling, undivided attention until he happened to glance at his phone, and shot up the moment after.

"Shit...I’m really sorry, but I have to go to work."

“Oh –”

To work. _To strip._

Jisung had to really control himself not to blurt out what he really wanted to say.

_No, you’re fucking not._

He managed it, just barely. He rose, to follow Hyunjin outside while the cogwheels were in full grind inside his brain.

He didn’t want him to go, but he was going.

"Honestly, I don't even know how to thank you...it was so incredibly nice of you to –"

"Can I have your number?"

Hyunjin's mouth was stuck in a little "o". His bag was hiked further up on his shoulder, his scalp sratched for close to a minute. He looked uncertain to say the least, and his expression wasn't easy to decode, but he might just be thinking... _why?_ And Jisung couldn't blame him, but he was desperate. What he really wanted to do was beg him not to go anywhere near that strip joint, wherever the hell it was, but this was the second best option.

“I uh...I don't know if –”

“Please? I just would like to see you again and...yeah. Please. I promise I’m not some crazy stalker, not gonna murder you in your sleep or...anything.”

Somehow it worked, and Hyunjin tapped his digits into Jisung’s phone with his tongue cutely peeking out of his mouth in concentration. When he was done he thanked him a few more times, and excused himself, politely as ever. But not before Jisung had, cheekily, made sure that he didn’t give him a counterfeit number by sending him a text. 

**Jisung:** Hi there. Stay safe at work. [4:45 PM]

Hyunjin’s phone dinged in his hand the next moment, and he blushed slightly while quickly replying.

 **Hyunjin:** Hi baby blue :) I will. [4:46 PM]

Jisung snorted out a laugh, and Hyunjin flashed his neat row of teeth at him one last time.

“Take care, Jisung. See you.”

Then, he was gone with the wind, hurrying down the street and disappearing into the crowd and out of sight.

Again. 

And Jisung remained on the sidewalk, staring down at what was suddenly the most important combination of numbers in his entire existence. More important than his grades and social security number and the amount of money he’d make at his future place of employment and...

...everything. Yeah.

Pretty much everything. 


	3. skin deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey 
> 
> I'm bacccc UwU
> 
> This chap turned out a lil longer. Warnings for this one; some language, and please check the tags. Also warnings for angst but I promise there's good times and fluff ahead too  
> Ty for reading ♡ take care

“I'm not really sure purple is your color, bro.”

Jisung’s spoon came to a stop mid-air. He turned, very slowly, to his right. Felix just gave him an innocent flutter of his lashes, and continued to slurp his soup.

“...and that frilly collar looks a little uncomfortable, too,” he added, after Jisung had unsuccessfully tried to drill a hole in his skull with his stare. 

"Felix one more word and I _swear_ –"

"Jisung!”

Both of them instantly straightened out with a startled squeak. Grandma Han raised her wine glass in salute, all smiles and crinkled eyes at the other end of the table.

“You look exquisitely dapper in the shirt I got you! Purple is the color of royalty, never forget that.”

"Yes grandma. I absolutely adore it," Jisung proclaimed monotonously. Grandma Han shone like the sun, and Felix burrowed into his napkin to muffle a mixture of weird neighing and coughing noises.

Sigh. Jisung proceeded to passive-aggressively stuff mushroom soup into his face. This thing had dragged on for a small eternity already, and Felix was right.

The collar did itch. Like a bitch. 

His thoughts wandered, to faraway places while the main course was served. And by dessert, they’d wandered even further, and his pavlova ended up smeared on his sleeve as a result.

“Oh _god damn it_ –”

“Jisung! Don’t cuss! Would you _mind_ paying attention? You’re so distracted lately, my goodness.”

His mother raised a well-manicured, scolding finger, and Jisung groaned unhappily as his father rushed forward to prevent him from making even worse of a mess. 

Yeah, he was distracted. Distracted was just the beginning of it.

He managed to escape the day’s festivities, but not before Grandma Han had remembered to squish his cheeks about fifty-three times. Mother Han and Father Han offered him sympathetic smiles, but Felix (the bastard) just cackled with badly withheld laughter behind him, since he apparently considered the whole situation hilarious.

“Such adorably puffy hamster cheeks,” he gushed, attempting to pinch at them, but Jisung elbowed him in the stomach before he could get to it.

“I swear I will just end you one of these days.”

Felix just grinned wider at that, and when Jisung finally weaseled his way out, the time already showed 5:35 PM. And another Sunday had flown past. Another afternoon spent sipping wine and listening to the older generation discuss interesting topics such as health insurance and golf.

Which was wildly fascinating, and all, but he had _important business_ to attend to.

“Remember to work hard for the rest of the semester, dear!” was the last he heard, before stumbling through the heavy mahogany doors and towards his car. The very first thing he did on the way there was to haul out his phone, but he was left disappointed after checking the state of it.

The _Important Business_ hadn’t replied to a single one of his texts. That fact left his ego slightly bruised, and cranked the alarm levels up a notch.

Because the conversation titled _Hyunjin_ was still just ominously blank on one side. All it consisted of were two bubbles filled with Jisung’s greetings from earlier, the ones he’d sent after forcing himself to wait at least half a day before assaulting the poor guy with word vomit.

And could he possibly have thought of anything more lame to say? Christ almighty.

“ _Hey, how’s it going?”_ was the first one. How very original. Jisung slammed the door to his car shut, and threw the phone on the seat next to him.

How’s it going. Well, how the hell would he imagine that it’s going for someone who sleeps under a leaking roof, and turns tricks for a living. Must be all twenty-four seven sunshine and rainbows.

And the second one wasn’t any better.

“ _I’m at a boring dinner with my parents. Wondered if you wanted to meet some day, maybe?”_

Just crickets to that one too. And that was...four hours ago. And now, Jisung realized how grossly entitled it came off. Calling a fancy ass dinner _boring_ when Hyunjin probably didn’t go anywhere near dinner most days, by the sounds of it.

Yeah. This was going splendidly. And his chances of ever meeting this person again seemed about as good as ever making it past 5,7 feet.

He yanked on the wheel angrily, deciding on a detour. Could at least swing by the shady redlight district-looking neighborhood again to check if he caught sight of any starved, blonde prostitutes. Just because...reasons.

_Jisung. That’s basically stalking._

But still, he couldn't help it. Hyunjin was MIA and it made his gut churn with bad omens. But then again, he knew nothing about the guy’s texting habits – maybe this was nothing out of the ordinary.

Or maybe he just wasn’t into Jisung. Also completely understandable, albeit a little heartbreaking.

But Jisung wasn’t entirely detached from reality, even though he spent a lot of time inside a secluded bubble of luxury. Certain parts of the city just weren’t safe at night, he knew that much. And horror images featuring sticky-fingered guys creeping on Hyunjin in the early hours of dawn were very much present. Cozy and festering like a tiny worm in his brain.

Also, he had actually gone full stalker-mode yesterday, meaning he’d googled the name and location of the male strip club Hyunjin worked at. He concluded as much, because it was the only one in town.

It went by the cringy-as-fuck name _Fun Factory._ And it looked like an ungodly dump, which didn't help calm Jisung one bit.

Neither did reaching his destination, because Hyunjin wasn’t there. 

Not his blanket or his belongings or his thin frame leaning against the wall. The area was abandoned, not even any lone plastic bags flapping about. Jisung remained in his car, ruminating over the situation. By the time he’d finally decided on a (maybe too brash) move, his nails were chewed down to stumps.

He should just go home and stop bothering the guy, and this might earn him a few more stalker-points, but to hell with it. He dialed, listening as it rang, once, twice, thrice, and too many times until he’d almost given up hope, but then.

Finally.

A familiar, timid voice answered. A little distorted, but definitely the right one.

“Um...hello?”

“Hey,” Jisung croaked, his throat suddenly desert-dry. “Uh...hey, Hyunjin. I’m so sorry for just calling you out of nowhere like this, but I sent you a few texts earlier, and you didn't reply, so...I was kinda worried. Are you okay?”

There was a pause, followed by some rustling, and Jisung assumed it must be Hyunjin checking his texts. When he returned, he sounded oddly dazed.

“Oh shit...I didn’t see them, I’m sorry. I’ve been a little out of it, today, but...yeah. I’m fine, I’m sorry. Everything’s fine.”

“No problem, it’s cool. But uh…”

Jisung gripped the phone tighter. He drew a supportive breath, and another, before just rambling everything he wanted to say in one speedy go.

“Sorry if this is too straight forward but would you maybe want to hang out? Like...now? Unless you’re busy?”

A near minute of full-blown-nothing followed. He almost thought Hyunjin had hung up, but then the pleasantly silvery tone flowed into his ear again.

“Ah...no, I’m not really busy, but...I don’t know, though…”

The tremble of his voice made Jisung sigh in sympathy. He sounded like he was sure that “hanging out” equaled being abducted and dumped in the trunk of a car. And that was understandable, but that didn’t stop Jisung from practically begging him, just like yesterday.

And Hyunjin gave in at last, just like yesterday.

Jisung actually hadn’t gotten so far as to planning what they would be doing. But he figured he could just...take the guy home for like...a glass of wine? A penthouse must be a welcome change in environment, for a homeless fella. Right?

That remained to be seen, and some fifteen minutes later Jisung pulled up next to a nearby park, according to Hyunjin’s instructions. It didn’t take long to locate him. He sat cross legged on a bench, his face turned to the sun. The flaxen hair was even wavier than last time Jisung saw it – soft, golden spirals framing the rolling hills of his face.

He looked nice in the sunlight. Like a glowing deity disguised in punk-rocker-attire.

“Hey. Nice shirt,” was Hyunjin’s first comment as he climbed in, and Jisung cursed his life. He forgot that he was still wearing the frilly lavender creation. Could at least have changed first, but no such luck, and now he had to settle for looking like a clown straight out of the 16th century. 

“Oh, this thing…it’s just, eh...my grandma bought it for me. Her taste is a bit peculiar it’s definitely not my usual style. Totally isn’t.”

Hyunjin’s upper lip twitched, and Jisung hurried to leave the undesirable subject behind.

“Anyway, hope I didn’t disturb anything?”

"Nah. Was just resting, enjoying the sun. I had an ice cream just before you got here."

"Oh yeah? What kind?"

"A melona. A nice lady and her kid daughter gave it to me, in the park." 

A faint smile nipped at the corners of his mouth as he answered. Cute. 

"Oh, that's so nice. What flavor?"

Jisung really wanted to see more of that almost-smirk. He was blessed with a fully sprouted one, when Hyunjin turned to face him the next second.

"Watermelon, obviously. The best one."

But he must have jinxed it with his talk about sun and ice cream, because a few minutes later it started independence day-pouring outside. Jisungs’s windshield wipers worked overtime, and the pitter patter of raindrops against glass was enough to lull Hyunjin into a half-slumber.

Jisung stole sideways glances at him while chatting about this and that. Mundane things, such as the project he really didn’t look forward to presenting tomorrow. Not because it was even remotely interesting, but it was safe, at least. 

And Hyunjin hummed politely in acknowledgement, but he didn’t provide much in return.

Again. 

The overcast sky emphasized the faint blue silhouettes under his eyes. Looked like he’d barely slept, and Jisung could detect a slight limp earlier, when he’d made his way over to him. Maybe he was just imagining, but that’s what it looked like.

“Do you have work at the strip club tonight, too?” he asked, making sure to sound casually interested, and not like he intended on swinging by to ogle him or something.

“No, I was supposed to but I did a double shift yesterday, so...yeah.”

It was a passive statement, delivered without emotion, negative or positive. Jisung digested it. Double shift, spinning on a pole. And...maybe more than that.

Maybe more. Like maybe lap dances. In private rooms with sensual red velvet couches and darkened lowlights.

Spitting hellfire flared within him, and he had to restrain himself again. To avoid just ordering Hyunjin to _quit_ right now.

He pondered. About how much he might possibly make, and how much it would take to get him off the streets and into a proper home.

"How much do you usually charge for a blowjob?”

That was much too personal of a question, and he hurried to follow up by assuring he didn’t mean to be rude. But if Hyunjin was offended, he didn’t show any of it. He’d turned to the window, chin resting in his palm while he studied the congregation of umbrellas passing them on the slippery sidewalk outside.

“40 000 won, give or take. But I’m lenient.”

Jisung made quick calculations. How many guys a night did that amount to if compared to a normal working day’s salary? 

...too many. Too damn many.

Hyunjin shut himself like a clam for the remainder of the ride, and Jisung suffered a quiet, existential crisis. And when they finally reached Yongsan and Hyunjin staggered out, he worried. Because his movements were stiff and _jerky_ and robotical and something wasn’t right with this.

“Are you alright?” He stepped forward, ready to catch him in case he was about to keel over. Didn’t seem so far off. “Looks like you're limping, did something happen?”

Jisung's hand was swatted away, and he was hit with déjà vu. Hyunjin pushed out a weary laugh, and there it was. That feigned smile again. 

“No, nah, I’m perfectly fine, just pulled a muscle while dancing. Nothing to worry about.”

Jisung’s eyes narrowed into slits. Sounded like one hell of a show if it left him with a near dislocated hip, but before he could dig any further, Hyunjin’s eyes blew wide.

“What the...you live here? _Here, in this freaking castle?”_

__

“Uh...well, just the upper floor…”

__

Jisung tugged on his coat sleeve. It was still raining and he wanted to get inside, but Hyunjin was busy gawking at the tall building towering over them, apparently awestruck.

__

"Yeah, duh. Holy shit. This is where the big shots reside. I'd usually be thrown out of an area like this, are you sure it's okay?"

__

One of his eyebrows were raised in doubt, and Jisung hurried to shepherd him through the front door.

__

"Of course, _duh_. Why wouldn't it be? You're my guest and no one has any say in that."

__

Fortunately they didn’t meet Mrs Kwan on the way up. Jisung wasn’t in the mood for small talk, and neither did he feel like explaining who his tall and slightly tattered looking friend was. Not because he was ashamed, nah. Hyunjin was drop dead gorgeous, in a sort of...street-chic kind of way. But the inhabitants of this posh area loved to gossip, and Mrs Kwan was no exception.

__

Hyunjin's state of absolute astonishment only intensified when they made it inside. Jisung threw a towel at him so he could dry off, and hurried to change his shirt. Meanwhile, Hyunjin _ooh’d_ and _aah’d_ as he peeked into every room, big Bambi eyes blown into saucers and soaking up all the grandeur.

__

“You must be absolutely loaded," he marveled as he flopped down on the russet-brown couch in the living room. “How old are you even?”

__

Jisung met the researching gaze. “Twenty-one. And it’s not my money, it’s my parents. And I know I seem like a spoilt kid, believe me...and...yeah. I know.”

__

He almost wanted to end it with “...and I’m sorry.” Because he was. Sorry that it was all so unfair. But Hyunjin just shrugged indifferently, leaning back into the cushions. After a moment’s pressing silence, Jisung dared open his mouth again.

__

“How...old are you?” 

__

“Twenty-two.”

__

The childlike enthusiasm slowly withered from his face, and the gray cloud made a reappearance. Maybe he was thinking the same as Jisung. Jisung who just learnt that this youngling was indeed his age and that was crazy because their lives were so different.

__

“Did you eat today? Anything but ice cream, I mean. We can order something.” 

__

He just wanted to help, in any way that he could. But Hyunjin squirmed like he had ants in his pants, hands awkwardly knitted in his lap.

__

“No, but ah...it’s fine, you don’t have to. You’ve already done too much for me.”

__

Jisung really hadn’t. He’d barely done anything, but Hyunjin was next level-stubborn. And it was both annoying and admirable. Admirable because he was set on making it on his own even though the entire universe seemed to be working against him.

__

But Jisung ended up the winner in the end, because he was persuasive. And because Hyunjin, despite offering some resistance, seemed to have a worryingly agreeable personality. 

__

A moment later he’d found out that his guest was partial to sushi. Another thirty minutes later a whole abundant spread of it sat on Jisung’s living room table, delivered straight into his apartment from a restaurant closeby. 

__

Getting Hyunjin to eat was like pulling teeth, but once he took the first tentative bite, a shy, gentle smile spread across his face, and the atmosphere unfurled. Then there was munching, light-hearted chatting, and Jisung thinking that _maybe_ a seed could be planted. One that could eventually blossom into...something. 

__

Oh how he wanted it to.

__

“That was insanely good, you don’t even understand. Thanks, Jisung.”

__

Hyunjin leaned back with a content sigh, slurping up the last of his bubble tea. Jisung beamed at him. 

__

“It’s okay, really. No trouble at all.”

__

He rose to collect the empty boxes. Hyunjin watched him, repeatedly asking if he should help, but Jisung instructed him to just relax, which he did, reluctantly. When Jisung returned after chucking everything in the trash, his long limbs were splayed out, and his arm casually slung over the armrest. 

__

His t-shirt hung a little lopsidedly around his neck. A bit of smooth, slanting collar bone was visible. 

__

And Jisung’s pulse hightailed straight into infinity at the sight.

__

_Stop, creep._ He scratched his head, coming to a halt on the rug. What now? Should he offer him a glass of wine? Or would that be too blatantly upper class?

__

“Would you like a –”

__

"So...you like guys?"

__

Jisung was left slightly stunned. That was a little abrupt, not to mention self-assured, all of a sudden.

__

"I...do..."

__

“Nice,” Hyunjin mused, tilting his head. “Got a boyfriend?”

__

“Uh...no, nope. Pretty much single and ready to mingle.”

__

“Alright. Well that’s cool. Not my business anyway. Whatever you need, I can give you.”

__

Jisung had no bloody clue what was going on, but Hyunjin had a playful glimmer in his eyes, and all traces of shy wallflower were suddenly wiped off. That was odd.

__

But it didn’t take long before he found out where this was headed.

__

Hyunjin stretched out like a feline, resting his palms against the marble floor to cushion himself as he crawled off the couch. Before Jisung could bat a lash, he was in front of him. With his knees folded, and his hands busy. Busy unbuckling Jisung’s belt and dragging his jeans down.

__

"I'll make you feel good," he mumbled. And suddenly his mouth was on Jisung’s junk, breathing hot air all over it and making him stiffen, like this fast.

__

Okay. What the _fuck._

__

He watched, basically paralyzed, as Hyunjin peered up at him with clouded eyes, watched his lips part, and heard a husky voice exiting his mouth. One he definitely hadn’t expected.

__

“I’ll give you the best head you’ve ever had, promise.”

__

Jisung’s body turned dense following the blood rush, amhis brain filled with nothing of use. Absolutely nothing.

__

Hyunjin yanked his briefs down, and took a moment to stare at his dick.

__

“You’re pretty big,” he murmured, breathily, before looking up with a coy smirk.

__

Amidst his brain fog, Jisung couldn't help but let out a weird, pitchy half-snort at that, because he wouldn't call himself anything but a tiny bit above average-sized at best. But Hyunjin wasted no time getting to it. His tongue fell out, lips parting to take him all the way inside. And Jisung gritted his teeth, balling his hands into fists because his mouth was soft and _wet_ and _–_

__

No, fuck, _fuck. Pause._

__

Some active, non-deranged part of his brain tried to slam the brakes on. The two of them were in his _apartment_ _–_ right in the middle of his living room and Hyunjin _–_ Hyunjin the _prostitute_ _–_ was down on his knees, blowing him.

__

He should call this off. He should pull out right crapping now.

__

But he didn't. This felt so monumentally wrong but he didn't.

__

Instead he wound fingers into his bleached locks, carefully combing through them as he sucked him, his throat flexing as he took him deeper. And he had skills. The things he was doing to Jisung just made him...drunk. In a way he hadn't been for some time. 

__

He realized pretty quickly he was about to dish one out, real fucking soon if Hyunjin kept his slobbering and slurping act up.

__

He opened his mouth to express it – but all that came out was a lewd moan. Hyunjin's eyes zapped up to meet his, and Jisung was a goner.

__

This was the closest he’d ever been to him. The front row seat made his knees weak, seeing his face in full HD and it was _pretty_ _–_ and he couldn't help but shallowly fuck into his mouth. Hyunjin let him, opening his jaw wider with a slight creak to accommodate him. 

__

Soon, ten minutes had already passed. Ten minutes of Jisung panting, of Hyunjin’s half lidded, kohl-lined eyes heavy on him. Ten minutes of pushing strands of flaxen hair out of the way when they plastered to his lips. Ten minutes of not interrupting him _–_ because he couldn't, and –

__

Hyunjin bobbed once more, letting out a muffled moan, and Jisung came in seconds, with a shaky _"fuck"._

__

He struggled to regain his composure, because all he felt was amazing and it was difficult, so dificult to return to the present. Bur when he finally did, his dick was still in Hyunjin's mouth, and the reality of what just happened smacked him right in the face.

__

His gut filled with a block of solid ice as he stared down. At the big doe eyes below him, strings of spit hanging from his lips as he pulled back. 

__

...and he'd just taken it. All of it.

__

"What the fuck _–_ I'm _so_ fucking sorry _–_ "

__

"It's okay, don't worry...it's okay."

__

Hyunjin was still grinning seductively, but the facade crumbled when he noticed Jisung’s absolute state of shock. He wiped some stray slobber off his mouth, before giving him a tilted, inquisitive glance.

__

"What's wrong? Didn't you like it?"

__

Jisung took one more look at him. At his eyes, glossy and a little feverish, probably due to lack of sleep. At his nose, red and a little snotty, probably due to the cold.

__

He tucked himself back into his pants, his feet moved, and the bathroom door closed behind him.

__

Inside, everything was like he left it this morning. The porcelain of the sink was cool against his fingers, and the mirrored version of himself stared at him in complete disbelief.

__

_What just happened._

__

He’d just received the world's greatest blowjob and committed the world's greatest treachery. 

__

Simultaneously.

__

Because that's what it felt like _–_ a betrayal. He was supposed to be _different,_ nothing like this guy's regular acquaintances...but instead he'd, what? Succumbed and just exploited his... _Hyunjin's_...compliant nature.

__

He let out a pained groan. It felt a lot like it, even though he wasn't the one to instigate. But he was responsible.

__

It was only the other day he'd been borderline offended when propositioned by him, and now, he’d apparently done a complete 360. Now he'd let him suck his dick and blown a load into his mouth without even asking.

__

God. What the hell was _wrong_ with him 

__

_Okay. Stop. Pull yourself together._

__

He splashed his cheeks with some cold water, and stepped outside again. Hyunjin had been biding his time on the couch, but he bounced up like a rubber ball the second he caught sight of Jisung. 

__

"Are you okay?”

__

"I'm sorry I left –”

__

Hyunjin overlapped before he could continue, his voice cracking like a broken mirror.

__

"Did I do something wrong? Because...I thought it was what you wanted, but you looked bothered...I promise you I'm clean, no STD’s. I went to get tested just a few days ago, I swear."

__

He was tripping over the words, and they squeezed Jisungs lungs until he was sure he’d burst. And Hyunjin’s facial expression – _god_. He looked like a kicked puppy. Bruised, wounded and confused.

__

_"Jesus,_ no, no, no...hey, listen to me for just a second – "

__

But he didn’t. Instead he started pacing nervously, back and forth over the rug as he bit his lip and continued the needless apologies.

__

"I'm really sorry...you asked how much for a blowjob, so I figured...but now I realize I didn't even ask you if..."

__

He left the sentence hanging. Jisung wanted to go back in time and slap himself silly. Yeah, he had, but not because of _that._

__

"Fuck...hold up, hold up." He raised a halting hand, silencing Hyunjin before he had a chance to start again. "Firstly...I didn't hurt you, did I? You're okay?"

__

He studied him intensely, his jaw, his throat, looking for any signs of discomfort. But Hyunjin just breathed a quiet _I'm fine_ with his eyes averted.

__

"Okay. But uh...you didn't do anything wrong, it's my fault, and I was into it. I was.”

__

Well. Understatement of the century. He was very into it. Very into it and he had a strange, screaming need to kiss Hyunjin right now. And maybe offer him a toothbrush too. So he could rinse away the taste of Jisungs cum from his mouth if he wanted to.

__

Yeah. But that would probably be...possibly not well received.

__

He also felt like he should...return the favor? But even though that idea made him all kinds of hot, bothered and enthusiastic, he had a tiny (massive) hunch that acting on it would be inappropriate.

__

Because Hyunjin had only blown him as a business transaction. And he also looked one syllable away from a sobbing meltdown right in Jisung’s living room, and that put any such plans on indefinite hold.

__

"Hyunjin. Everything is alright, so...just calm down." Jisung took a tentative step in his direction, and Hyunjin froze. "As I said, I was into it, obviously. Else I would have told you to stop, but that’s not why I brought you back here.”

__

"...oh." Hyunjin sounded sheepish, fingers anxiously scratching at his bare arm.

__

"I mean. I'll pay you though," Jisung added quickly. "Hold on."

__

It felt colossally wrong and slightly patronizing, but he saw no other option. How could he _not_ pay him. Hyunjin had been under the impression he was working after all. And he needed the cash.

__

But that didn’t stop him from dubiously studying the thick pile of notes as Jisung handed them over, like they were a collection of poisonous snakes. 

__

"Please take it."

__

"I can't take it, I mean...you didn't even like it."

__

Jisung's mouth hung slightly open. This situation was outlandish to say the least. He hadn't expected to end the day by trying to convince a blowjob expert that his blowjobs didn't suck, but here they were.

__

"Uh...yeah I did. I don't know if you failed to notice, but I came in no time. In your mouth."

__

"Well...okay, yeah. I noticed," Hyunjin admitted, eyes plastered to the living room rug.

__

Probably kind of hard not to. And Jisung really hoped his cum hadn't tasted like rotting sewer. 

__

"Sorry about that by the way, again," he squeaked, but Hyunjin just shook his head and managed a weak smile.

__

"It's okay, it's no biggie at all...I'm used to...I mean...it's...m’fine.”

__

That rambled statement ripped a hole into Jisung. He regarded Hyunjin where he stood, standoffish and avoiding locking eyes with him. His face was still clammy, prickles of moisture coating his lower lip. Jisung hastily asked if he wanted a glass of water, but he received nothing but stern head-shaking in return.

__

He wanted to fix this. He needed to, but he had no idea how.

__

"Hyunjin...listen. Honestly, this wasn't my intention. I didn’t bring you here to take advantage of you, I really don’t want that. Well okay, I mean _I do_ , or…”

__

Jesus. _Shut up, shut up, shut up_. Everything he said just came out disastrous, and once again he managed to win himself Tactless idiot of the year-award.

__

“I’m sorry, I’m really bad at...talking…” 

__

Hyunjin’s Adam's apple vibrated, most likely with a looming outpouring of tears. Jisung allowed himself a deep, calming breath.

__

_Focus, idiot._

__

“What I _mean_ is...I don’t want to take advantage of you, but I do _like_ you, in...many ways. But I don’t want it like _this._ I brought you here cause I just wanted to talk, and cause you're nice and...yeah. I thought you might need a friend."

__

"A...friend."

__

Hyunjin repeated it like it was some alien terminology. Jisung nodded sincerely, challenging himself to another, tiny step forward.

__

"Yeah."

__

"But you don't even know me."

__

Jisung took another step. It felt like the journey was endless. 

__

"I know, but...I want to. Know you."

__

"I feel really stupid now," Hyunjin murmured, his face drooping dejectedly. Jisung closed the distance between them.

__

"No. No, please. It's my fault."

__

He carefully ran a thumb down his arm. His skin felt...freezing cold. Even though the apartment was nicely heated. Hyunjin cringed under the light contact instantly, pulling away from him.

__

He'd just had Jisungs dick down his throat, but he didn't even let him touch him. Didn’t let him come near. He just jerked away from him, constantly, like he was the goddamn plague.

__

Jisung let his hand fall limply to his side again, reeling from both rejection and worry.

__

"I should go.”

__

The subdued announcement punched a hole in him. He barely had time to blink, before Hyunjin had made it to the front door, and wrapped his fingers around the handle. 

__

He was about to leave, again. 

__

"Wait a second, don't go yet –"

__

"You’re really nice, Jisung, and I like you, but...I should go.” 

__

He pushed the handle down, and gave Jisung a hollow-eyed look. A look that sent nasty tremors down his spine. Because it was too despondent, full of unuttered apologies when he had nothing to be sorry about.

__

There were so many things Jisung hadn’t asked him yet, about his life and opinions and dreams and...and everything. He couldn't just leave like this, not after _this._

__

“No, hell no. No you shouldn’t. I don’t want you to sleep on the street, okay. I won’t let you.”

__

Hyunjin’s jaw tensed, and so did his grip on the door.

__

“I’m not your responsibility, I can’t ask any more of you –”

__

“You’re not. You’re not, I’m offering.” 

__

Jisung was about to wail like a newborn baby in seconds, he was sure of it. He filled his lungs with air, and decided to just spill everything, without holding a single ounce back.

__

“Listen. I like you and I want to help, okay. This place is huge and it just kills me to know that you’re about to spend the night in some fucking cold…disgusting _warehouse_ or whatever...” 

__

There was a pause. This was in danger of transforming into ranting, because it was all so upsetting.

__

“I have a guest room, you can sleep there. I promise I won't..."

__

He trailed off, not entirely sure how to even word it. Hyunjin mumbled something barely audible that sounded like _it's not that_. But Jisung was pretty sure it was something like that.

__

"It'll be okay," he promised him, softly. "I'll leave you alone if you want. You don’t even have to see me. Just...don’t go out there. It’s raining. It’s cold, it’s...dangerous. Just sleep one night in a proper bed. _Please.”_

__

The last plea rested between them, raw and honest. Something told Jisung that if Hyunjin walked out the door now, he’d never see him again.

__

_Please just stay._

__

He watched him mull it over in silence. The door might bust open any second, and he’d be gone. 

__

But it didn’t. 

__

His fingers slid off the handle, and Jisung could see a lifetime of scars in the expressive features when he looked up.

__

“Okay. Okay, I’ll stay.” 

__


	4. in bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellllo (ˇ⊖ˇ)
> 
> Picks up from last chap. Warnings for this chapter: some servings of angst, think that's it?  
> Ty for reading ♡ take care of yourselves

When Hyunjin was seated on his couch again, the budding flower in Jisung’s chest grew. The rain falling outside the massive windows filled the role of both a melodious soundtrack as well as nutrition for the tiny plant, called Jisung’s Infatuation.

And not to forget Hyunjin’s intermittent glances at him, of course. The way he peeked at him when he thought Jisung didn't notice, only to quickly avert his gaze when their eyes locked. Those were the rays of sunlight, helping the first frail petal pop. 

It gave Jisung hope. That he _maybe_ hadn’t totally managed to screw this up yet.

Only ten minutes had passed since their exchange in the hall. Ten minutes since he agreed to stay, and right after, Jisung had extended a hand. To ghost over his t-shirt sleeve. Because the invisible bruises on Hyunjin’s face just automatically made him do it.

And his thumb had brushed up and down his arm for at least a few seconds before it was evaded. Maybe that was progress.

Then, Jisung had squeakily asked him if he wanted to just be shown the guest room and call it a night. Just in case he didn't want to be anywhere near his guts a second longer. But after some indistinct mumbling that at least sounded like “no, it’s okay”, they were here. 

Each of them occupying their own couch since Jisung (regrettably) had _two_ lavish ones. 

And basically, he'd pretty much whined his way into getting Hyunjin to stay, but he didn’t feel one ounce of bad for it. And now, it was time for the obvious question.

“Are you okay?”

He watched Hyunjin twitch his way through a whole series of nervous ticks. Lip-gnawing, arm-scratching. And Jisung already knew he was in for a fabricated answer.

"Yeah, yeah. I’m fine." Hyunjin turned briefly, to have a look out the window when a gust of wind and rain made it rattle.

They were too far apart. Jisung wanted to sit next to him right now and not...eight whole feet from him. Hold him through whatever was wrong. He studied his side profile low-key, the dip of his nose and the rounded curve of his plush lips and heavens, it was appealing. 

_Okay stop. Bad Jisung._

“Could I get you a glass of wine?” 

Maybe that wasn’t the best of ideas, but...it might just work as a nice, relaxing agent. The lines around Hyunjin’s eyes smoothed out ever so slightly at the suggestion, at least.

“Um...yeah, sure. Sure.”

“Or do you have any other kind of drink you prefer? Anything you want.”

Honestly, he’d been ready to call NASA to work something out if Hyunjin had requested the moon itself. But acting as an exemplary host and offering an alcoholic beverage seemed more doable. Hyunjin chewed a nail into a stump, giving it some thought. 

"I don’t have any preferences, my tolerance is kinda...bad…”

He shrugged, looking a little abashed. Jisung hurried to add this fact to his Hyunjin Information bank. 

_Low tolerance. Make sure to moderate tipsiness levels._

“...the only time I drink is kinda...at the strip club, and then it's what customers buy us...so...yeah. I don't like, drink a lot but, you know...sometimes it makes it…”

During the pause that followed, his tone turned glum as his irises flickered away from Jisung. 

“...easier."

Hardened cement filled Jisung's lungs. The more snippets he received of Hyunjn’s day to day life at the strip club as well as the streets, the more of a dire picture it painted in his head. 

He rubbed his temples. It was hard to know what to say to this.

But Hyunjin seemed to have interpreted his silence and stiff brows as disapproval or even…disgust. Because when Jisung plunged out of his mental constipation and into the present, the corners of his mouth sagged, and he looked to be regretting every single speck of information he'd just revealed.

"Sorry, Jisung. That sounds really bad now that I think of it."

"No, no, it's okay,” Jisung assured, emphasizing it with frenetic nodding. “It's okay. It doesn’t. Or I mean it does, but like...you can be honest. I don’t judge."

Hyunjin rearranged himself on the couch, pulling his back up to full height. And the nervous nail-chewing resumed. At this rate his nail beds would be shredded to bits soon, christ almighty.

Jisung adopted his most assertive tone, hellbent on getting at least one unadulterated answer out of this kid.

"What do you _like_ then? Like what flavor do you like the most, in general?"

It wasn’t easy. He had to position himself with a stern finger pointed towards the kitchen, and an equally stern glare on Hyunjin, to signal he really _was_ about to fetch them drinks, so Hyunjin might as well just spill it already.

“Or else I’ll get you something gross. Belly button fluff and fish intestine smoothie.”

That bold statement made the sparkly smile return, at last.

“Okay, okay. Well I guess...sweet things.”

“Sweet. Gotcha.”

Sweet. Easy as pie. Jisung’s fridge was stuffed to the brim with a generous amount of well...everything. He ferreted around the kitchen, building a tall tower of refreshments on the counter. A glass of wine for him, an alco pop with cherry flavor for Hyunjin (plus a glass of wine) as well as a mountain of snacks enough to feed a small army of children.

He hesitated briefly, reflecting over the conversation from before. Hyunjin had mentioned _customers_ and _buying_ and _drinks_ and... _for us._ And adding all that up made for a potentially icky equation.

Hopefully he didn’t think that was Jisung’s plan. To get him shitfaced so he could ravage him. Hopefully he had at least _that_ much trust in him.

Hyunjin was wide-eyed as Jisung returned, dumping all of the refreshments on the living room table. Soon the TV showed some dumb K-pop drama in the background, and the wine bided its time in Hyunjin’s hand along with an assortment of miniature chip bags in his lap.

And Jisung couldn’t help but melt at the cute flare of his nostrils when he took the tiniest sniff at it, with a curious glimmer in the catlike eyes. But a second later, after he’d challenged himself to an equally tiny sip, his face scrunched into a dried plum.

"Not a huge fan, huh?” 

“No no, it’s...good,” Hyunjin claimed, before taking another crinkle-nosed sip.

“Uhuh...honestly this isn’t my fave either. It’s Australian, my friend Chris recommended it to me. That guy swears by Australian everything, but it tastes like cat pee. Try the alco pop instead, you’ll like it.”

He did. It disappeared down his throat at record speed, and Jisung watched fondly as his shoulders gradually slackened and he moved about more freely. At some point he’d even reduced the distance between them, leaning against the cushions at the edge of the couch while he watched the TV under half-closed lids.

He looked at ease. For the first time in...well, ever. 

But then, Jisung’s gigantic piehole had to go and ruin the whole thing. Because the wine had rushed to his head, and that apparently sent signals to his mouth to just broadcast whatever came to mind. 

"At the...strip club. Do you just strip or do you do like, lap dances too?”

Now it was his time to deflate, after the downcast nod Hyunjin gave him. 

"Yeah, we give private lap dances and sometimes...oral."

He murmured the last word into his can of alco pop, vacantly fingering at it.

"...but I don't like go the whole way, you know. Or, only when...ah. Nevermind."

The corners of his mouth sagged. Jisung's heartbeat floundered in his chest. He did want him to be candid, but at the same time...oh, it hurt.

Picturing Hyunjin, drunk and vulnerable and grinding on anonymous guys that weren’t, well... _Jisung_...made him both inwardly cry at the guy's predicament, as well as just a little irrationally jealous. 

Hyunjin, looking to be stuck in another universe, hadn’t noticed his sour pout. 

"But I don't like, care about them,” he ended his revelations, sullenly. “They're just there. You know. I don't...feel anything for them."

There was a perceivable, lingering affliction in his eyes as he spoke the last bit impassively. Behind him, the rain continued to batter the windows as he fell silent.

"That does sound kind of bad," Jisung interjected softly. "To have to numb yourself."

"I don't mind the actual stripping. It's just... sometimes customers get gropey. You know how it is."

The shrug he received coupled with that statement was too indifferent. In fact that was his response to everything. And Jisung was overcome with an urge to ask if they were hiring, because working as a security guard to prevent said unsolicited groping from occurring suddenly seemed like a great career path for him.

But he successfully managed to zip it, for now at least, and the tension between them dissolved.

And after a couple more alco pops, Hyunjin was definitely moderately tipsy. A drawing on the coffee table had caught his attention. Squinting, he grabbed it, eyes glossy and inquisitive on Jisung. 

"Is this supposed to be you by any chance?”

"Oh, yeah...my friend Felix drew it. He thinks he’s the funniest guy on the planet."

Hyunjin's smile widened visibly as he studied the charming, hand-drawn caricature Felix so kindly had blessed Jisung with.

"Mr squishy hamster cheeks." 

"Uhuh...he's always picking on me. He says my cheek pouches could store a whole weekend’s worth of snacks.”

He pinched one of said pouches, before grabbing a handful of chips with an eye-roll and stuffing them into his mouth.

"I think they're nice," Hyunjin blurted. Jisung stopped chewing. And right then, he probably did uncannily resemble a puffy-cheeked hamster. A hamster whose cheeks heated up to scorching temperatures in the span of seconds.

" _I mean,_ " Hyunjin stuttered, "...you...I don't think you have squishy...or I mean they’re a little round, but that’s like really charming. And you look...nice. Yeah. Very nice and handsome."

He grabbed a pillow to hide behind after finishing the rambled tirade. Jisung swallowed with some effort.

"Thanks, uh...you look really nice too."

_Under-fucking-statement._

"...I like the blonde hair. It suits you. But I bet you'd look nice in dark too."

Hyunjin reacted to the compliments in his usual charming manner, with crinkling eyes and dusted flowers spreading across his cheeks. 

“Thanks...it’s, yeah...I actually haven’t had my natural hair color since…eh. Nevermind."

And silence.

Jisung didn’t press, but he did notice Hyunjin become a little subdued after that abrupt stop. More safe chit chat followed, and when the sky turned into a pitch black blanket dotted with stars outside, Jisung showed him to his guest room.

At that point his eyelids were already drooping and he was wobbly on his feet, a clear sign it was time to hit the sack.

But first, he told him he could have a shower. And then, he kinda sorta happened to see his back. Like, his _bared_ back.

And it was honestly an accident. Jisung had, quite rudely, barged in without thinking, only to come to a screeching halt when he was met with a pair of toned shoulders. Shoulders attached to a cream-colored, slim torso. 

With prominent _back dimples_. And a few faint, scattered moles kissing his shoulder blades.

Jisung just just stood there, blinking at a hundred miles per minute. It was a miracle he didn’t drop the towels and his jaw too.

But the worst thing was that Hyunjin turned tomato-red once he noticed the intruder. And then, Jisung had to ramble apologies, again, while he wrenched his gaze away and swung around.

"Oh god, sorry, I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean to just rip the door open, I brought you some towels and there's a toothbrush unless you have one...uh...yeah...so...anything else you need?”

Hyunjin — now clothed again — accepted them, along whole armada of _thank you_ and _you’re too nice_.

 _So nice._ So nice, and a little bit of a horny bastard.

The clock showed 1AM when he finally sank into bed, after making sure Hyunjin was tended to. But it’s not like he fell asleep right away. 

Nah. 

He lay thinking about his back, and other parts of him too, obviously. Like...his mouth...and maybe a little bit about how it felt wrapped around his own...parts. Just for a tiny fleeting moment, before he drew a quick cross in the air and begged whoever was listening for forgiveness.

But once he did drift off, he didn’t stay asleep for long. Faint keening noises nudged him awake at some point, but at first he thought he'd conjured them in his sleep. Another drowsy-eyed glance at the clock told him it had only been thirty minutes. He changed positions, ready to snore himself into oblivion again.

But a second later, he shot up, because he’d just remembered his guest a few rooms away.

When he carefully, very carefully pushed the door open, the room bathed in a faint pastel light. He managed to get a few seconds undisturbed view of what was going on inside — Hyunjin, cross-legged on the bed and clutching what looked to be a frayed photo in his hands. And...

...crying. Yep. Most definitely, and it sounded most heartbreaking.

Jisung crept inside, but the creaking of the door made Hyunjin zap his head up. The photo was hastily shoved under the pillow, his nose wiped clean of snot.

"S—sorry Jisung...didn't mean to wake you..."

“No, no, I'm sorry...I should have knocked."

The bed dipped as Jisung took a seat on it, observing him. He looked completely torn, his blonde hair still shower-damp and disheveled and tears hanging from his lower lashline.

"Hey...why are you crying? What's going on? Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

But after he said that, he dropped his head. And if anything, the crying increased. Fat, dewy dollops he made no effort to hold back ran down his cheeks in small canals, coloring the fabric of his t-shirt a darker gray.

“Hyunjin...you're not.“

Jisung’s voice was silky. As he moved closer, inch by inch, he witnessed Hyunjin recoil again. He came to a quick halt, before making an effort to untangle this, whatever it was.

“That photo you held...who was it?”

“Just...my mom and my sister. They’re...”

Jisung sat absolutely still, waiting for the continuation. Another tear swirled down Hyunjin’s cheek as he mouthed the end of it, one single jarring syllable that punched a hole in Jisung's heart.

Thick, thick emotion — sympathy, but also just plain, raw sadness — coated his voice when he spoke. As he attempted to console.

“I’m...so sorry, Hyunjin. So sorry.”

Hyunjins head shook feverishly back and forth, closing the door for further questioning. Jisung watched his backlit silhouette as he turned away from him, eyes inky and watery and fixed on the wallpaper on the other side of the room.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Maybe if he’d waited a few minutes more, he'd managed to gently pull it out of him. But now he watched him straighten out his posture, rake a hand through his bangs and let out a little embarrassed laugh.

“No. No...don’t want to bother you, you have college tomorrow.”

“I don’t care about college...I care about this.”

“You shouldn’t,” Hyunjin sniffled, barely able to push the words out. Jisung inched just a little bit closer.

"Of course I should.”

It was a little disconcerting, witnessing him jump from one emotional spectrum to the other, seeing the constant hesitancy to speak, engage, exist. Even when Jisung poked using a feather light touch, he shut himself tight.

Still, he mumbled a sleepy _thank you_ when provided some tissues to wipe his eyes with. And while he busied himself with that, Jisung made a beeline for the kitchen.

When he returned he witnessed Hyunjin look at yet another complete normal object like it was an alien artifact. This time it was steaming hot green tea, served in one of Jisung's favorite novelty mugs with a sloth on it.

“What’s that?”

“It’s...sleepy tea. My mom gave it to me, it has like a lot of herbs and shit that’s supposed to be calming and help you sleep and...yeah...”

A weak smile tugged at Hyunjin’s lips as he accepted it. Jisung stayed next to him as he blew on it, before finally taking a sip.

“Is it nice?”

He took another sip, and another. Sip, sip, sip.

“Yeah...thank you."

“You're welcome. I’ve always liked tea. It’s like a hug in a cup.”

“Hug in a cup. That’s cute.”

It seemed to help calm him, just a little bit. He was so very, very obviously exhausted and bubbling with emotion. Maybe alcohol had been a bad idea. But too late to backtrack now, and all Jisung could do was try to remedy this chaotic situation.

Once the tea was finished, he cajoled him down again, and thankfully he didn’t put up a fight. He just crawled under the covers, and even allowed himself to sort of be tucked in while he hiccuped quietly. His breathing slowed as he pulled the comforter up to his chin, and Jisung could exhale.

But then it kinda went downhill again.

Tears welled in the deep-brown eyes, dripping down onto the mattress. He caved in on himself, and soon he was back to shaking as the sobs clawed their way out of him, one by one in a dithering staccato. 

And Jisung watched, torn apart by concern and desperate to help, but nothing worked.

“Calm down, it’s okay Hyunjin, hear me? Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?”

"No, _sorry,_ ” Hyunjin slurred, struggling for air. “You can go — I'll be _fine..._ "

" _No,_ what the hell, I’m not leaving you here like this. Calm down, _please,_ it's okay.”

Jisung just wanted to hug him. Just collect him into his arms but he was worried that was too straight forward. But now he was panicking, because nothing he said seemed to register. Not his soft crooning, not his palm stroking circles over the comforter, not his hushed requests for him to settle down.

"Hyunjin _...relax,_ shhh _…_ you have to breathe, okay? Breathe, slowly, and calm down.”

But he didn’t. Stifled cries sounded through the night as the tears kept pouring, despite Jisung's best efforts to wipe them off as they emerged.

"Hyunjin — please —"

" _No — o —_ " 

His hand rested limply on the mattress next to him. Jisung hesitated just a split second, before pushing through whatever invisible barrier existed between them and into his personal space. 

He spread his slender fingers apart, heating the cold, delicate limb up using his own body temperature. And squeezed.

"Hyunjin... _relax._ Listen. You're okay. You're okay. It's okay." 

And then, everything ceased. Time, space, existence, and Jisung was the extraterrestrial making first contact. He felt his pulse, the tremors transferring to his own skin in electric waves. But he'd stopped the keening, and now he was quiet and letting out small puffy breaths as he let Jisung hold his hand.

He did, holding it while repeatedly telling him everything would be okay. And finally, Hyunjin went slack against the sheets, his eyes blank and swollen after the abuse his body had put him through. Jisung regarded him, saddened in the face of his distress.

“You're so damn tired, huh. Whatever is going on...it’ll be alright. Trust me. Go to sleep, I'll be here.” 

Hyunjins lips quivered, a few airy whimpers escaping him before his eyes fluttered shut. 

Once his breaths came out level, Jisung dared to reach out a thumb to stroke over his cheek, after a few minutes of just watching over him. And he finally got to feel how soft his face was.

It was so soft.

* * *

“That went to crap.”

Chris, also known as Bang Christopher Chan, bestowed a critical look upon Jisung where he sulked, chin in his palm and with dark tufts of hair poking out at the back of his head.

"Come on, wasn’t _that_ bad. You just kinda looked like you were falling asleep through the entirety of it, but it's fine."

"And you sounded like a sloth on crack," Minho chimed in, unhelpfully, only to smile innocently the next second when Chris dug scolding eyes into him.

"Shush, Minho. Anyway, it's fine, presentation is only a fourth of the final grade. Rough night?"

"Something like that," Jisung droned. Today was just gross. And he was anxious to hear from Hyunjin. He’d spent the night restlessly next to him, keeping his distance but waking ever so often to make sure he didn’t suffer any more almost-panic attacks.

And hopefully he was still dead to the world, peacefully snoozing his way through a dream at the moment, because god knows he needed it.

The surroundings became flimsy and tranquil as Jisung allowed his own eyes to close just temporarily, but a searing pain propelled him out of it quite abruptly.

“Ow, you ass! Can people just leave my shins alone?!”

Chris raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and shoved a thick pile of notes into his hands.

“No siestas during class, we have work to do.”

The rest of the lecture proceeded blandly. Jisung didn't get another opportunity for a nap, and Minho entertained himself by throwing erasers at him across the table, until Chris threatened to stuff him into the trash can unless he cut it out.

Jisung buried his face in his notes. He'd so much rather be home with Hyunjin right now

And by lunchtime, he was glued to his phone again. Hyunjin hadn't replied to his most recent text asking him if everything was okay, but logically, he might still be asleep. Minho tried to ogle the screen over his shoulder, only to stick out his tongue in an obscene gesture when he was elbowed back.

“Who are you texting all the time?”

“No one.”

“Okay Mr top fucking secret. Keep your sugar daddies and weird ass cults to yourself."

Chris followed on their heels as they walked down the spiral staircase towards the exit, sighing knowingly as they kept up their bickering all the way downstairs

"FOR THE MILLIONTH TIME I DO NOT HAVE A SUGAR DADDY —"

"NO NEED TO SCREAM, OKAY." 

Jisung stomped off, seething. Man, if Minho knew how close to the truth he was. Just...not that way around. And not that Jisung wanted to be Hyunjin’s sugar daddy or anything. 

He just wanted to spoil him and just basically buy him whatever he wanted and wrap him in warm cotton and...

...yeah okay. That did sound kinda bad.

"Anyway can we head to lunch?" Minho bounced impatiently on the spot, clinging to Chris. "Maybe we could go to that nice sushi place in Gangnam.”

“ _Or_ ," Jisung retorted, bemusedly, "... _maybe_ we should get a sandwich from 7-Eleven, and then spend the rest of our break picking up litter from the sidewalk or something. Homeless people sleep there, you know.”

He came to a halt as the footsteps ceased behind him, and turned, only to see Minho and Chris staring at him like a pair of human question marks. Minho leaned closer to Chris, holding a discreet hand over his mouth.

"Told you there was something up with him." 

"What's weird about that?!” 

"It's not weird at all. Great idea, Jisung," Chan praised hastily, before grabbing Minho and giving him a slight shove forward. “Oh! My mom actually volunteers at a soup kitchen. They always need more helping hands, maybe we should go there some evening? What do you say?”

“That's...such...a marvelous...idea."

Minho smiled amiably at Chris, before shooting Jisung a look of pure death behind his back. Then, they did end up heading to 7-Eleven, much to Jisung's delight. Also, Minho's face ended up sprayed with coke after he shook the can too violently before opening it, much to his even bigger delight.

Revenge tasted sweet. Almost as sweet as Hyunjin looked when he smiled.

* * *

Once the day was finally a wrap, Jisung sped home, very darn close to earning himself a ticket. Thankfully he didn't, but as he raced through the apartment, he nearly took a nasty nosedive instead. 

But thankfully, he managed to avoid that too. And when he slid into the guest room, he blurted a massive _thank god._

Because Hyunjin was still there. Real, there, and snoring very audibly with his hair fanned out over the pillow.

_"Hyunjin…wakey wakey..."_

This time Jisung didn’t make the mistake of startling him awake like an inconsiderate idiot. Instead he brushed a thumb over his cheek, much like yesterday, while softly humming some melodic tune he'd heard on the radio recently.

It took a good five minutes, but Hyunjin roused at last, squinting around himself in freshly-awakened confusion. 

“Oh my — fuck, what time is it…”

“ _Damn_ you're hard to wake. It’s late. But you needed that rest, my god. You were absolutely beat yesterday.”

Not just that. Neither one of them mentioned it, but the memory of last night's revelation was still fresh on Jisung’s retina. Even so, he knew better than to ask sensitive questions right now, when Hyunjin had just barely dug himself out of whatever dark void he'd spiraled into.

"Are you okay to get up?"

Hyunjin gave it a shot, hauling himself up with some difficulty while Jisung observed from the side of the bed. He rubbed a thoughtful thumb over his chin, drawing to mind the slight limp he’d showcased yesterday.

“You seem really sore…you're not hungover, right? How’s your hip now?"

“Nah…I'm fine. J ust unused to sleeping in an actual bed.” He cracked his knuckles, stretching out the slender limbs, one by one. Jisung raised a horrified eyebrow at the ominous creaking. It really did sound like the bones were shifting inside his body.

"You sound like you're about to snap in half, but okay...and a bed was still nice, huh?”

“It was so nice.”

The much needed full night’s sleep had obviously done him good, because his cheekbones held a healthy, rosy tint now. While still wiping little gobs of sleep out of his eyes, he turned to Jisung with an attentive smile.

“How was your presentation?”

“Oh, that. Absolute dogshit.”

He insisted that Hyunjin help himself to another shower, and this time he even managed to bestow him full privacy. During it, Jisung occupied the living room, daydreaming (about what he might look like with water sprinkling down his back) while creamy clouds rolled past outside. The weather showed its best side, and when a damp-haired Hyunjin came sauntering out in the living room dressed in a fresh t-shirt, Jisung leapt off the couch to greet him.

“Hey, do you want to go for breakfast? I mean it’s...5pm but sun’s shining for a change. On me of course.”

“You’re too damn nice to me,” Hyunjin sighed.

Jisung begged to differ, but once again his persuasiveness was enough to land them in a nearby café. Hyunjin basked in the sunlight like a kitty, a pair of sunglasses resting casually across his nose. Jisung soaked the scene up greedily, munching on a croissant while sending him adoring glances over the table. One could almost imagine they were...friends.

One could also potentially imagine it might develop...into something more than that.

If he was honest, which he tended to be, that was his heart’s desire.

The evening was all mellow chatter and espresso-slurping, and it felt so right. So easy. But Jisung didn’t fail to notice that Hyunjin had brought his backpack, and that fact tilted him. Because soon dusk was falling and they stood on the sidewalk again, caught in a very similar scenario to a few days ago. 

About to say their goodbyes. As per Hyunjin’s request, when all Jisung wanted was to head home and turn him into his own blanket burrito and watch movies all evening.

“And there’s no way I could convince you to just crash another night? Not even with a whole box of melona?”

Jisung watched him titter bashfully, a finger pressed to his lips as if he was considering it.

“You've figured how to bribe me already, huh. You’re sweet, but...I have to go.”

"I don't want you to be alone.”

Jisung remained disapproving. A lukewarm breeze blew past them, ruffling Hyunjin's bleached locks into a mess. Seeing him brush them back and smiling heartily didn't help the situation one bit.

“I know, and...thank you, you’ve been so nice...again. Yesterday was so fun and I kinda want to stay but I need to go. I have some stuff to take care of.”

Jisung’s sigh was dramatic enough for the whole block to hear. He pouted, and stepped closer, gently nudging at the back of Hyunjin’s hand. After a moment’s hesitation, a few willowy fingers curled into his.

“But...you can text me though. And I’ll even reply this time.”

"Promise?"

Hyunjin loosened the grip on his hand, leaving their pinkies hooked.

"Pinky promise."

And then, Jisung watched his back disappear down the street, while the brittle bud within him unfolded yet another radiant petal.


	5. spring day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellllo
> 
> Whew, this one ended up long. Sometimes it be like that. Anyway, no warnings except language and smol angst  
> There's a lil bit of Hyunjin's POV in this chap
> 
> Ty for reading ♡ take care

Momentarily closing his eyes, Hyunjin let his drained body relax as the sunlight licked at his cheekbones. Pulling his coat off, he bared his arms to allow it to chase away the perpetual chill he’d been feeling for months now. Not that carelessly vegetating outside a shopping center in a metropolis like Seoul was ever a smart move. But with the temporary heat wave, everyone seemed to be in an unusually sunny mood. Even pickpocketers.

The breeze was strong, but balmy. Definitely smelled like summer. But he knew it was only temporary, because he'd overheard the news this morning during his breakfast run at a shabby diner. The winds would be back to arctic by next week, rendering the streets unusually freezing for this time of year. 

Last winter had been bad enough. There’d been a few too-close calls a few times, when he'd landed himself in hospital after his body temperature fell well beyond sub-zero levels as he lay blacked out in some gutter. Luckily, he always managed to take a hike before the medical staff got a chance to ask any questions — or call the cops.

Now, the thought of arctic nights under the leaking roof at the abandoned warehouse made every cell in his body shrink in on itself.

But then again...obviously, there were _some_ options to sleeping outside.

Such as...sleeping at work. At the strip club.

Not appealing.

Or...accept Jisung's offers of...sleeping at his place. Like some stray puppy.

Semi-appealing, and simultaneously appalling.

Because even though he was drawn to Jisung like a magnet to its other half, something held Hyunjin back, constantly. 

_Pride?_

After surveying himself, he had to admit that was it. That, and...fear. Fear of what Jisung might think when he found all of it out, everything.

Leaning back, he allowed the sights to chase away the harrowing thoughts for a while. There was a lot to look at. Dogs with their tails wagging, screaming children, citizens hurrying from place A to place B. Everything gleamed more vividly, much due to the sun’s illuminating rays. 

On days like these, the concrete jungle even kind of felt like...home. 

Days when he didn't have to shiver and lay in puddles of rain. Days when it didn't matter too much that his stomach growled because the intoxicating warm tint in the air was enough to sate him.

His tummy complained at him today too, dipping in on itself, even though he'd received his paycheck just recently. But sticky fingers had confiscated most of it as usual. That’s why breakfast this morning had been underwhelming to say the least. A cup of bitter-tasting coffee — the only remains of it — still lingered on the asphalt next to him, but it was okay.

Spring had always been his mother's favorite time of year. And what wouldn't he do to be allowed to spend just one more day, just _one_ more spring day with her and his sister.

No one paid him much attention as he pulled his backpack closer to whip out the photo. It was in danger of falling apart, fragile after being completely submerged in water a while back, when a nasty rainstorm abused the city. Stroking a thumb over the curtain of dark hair framing his mother's face, he mused over the fact his natural shade was exactly the same. An flawless copy, same big eyes, same bone structure, too.

Seeing her whenever he looked in the mirror was comforting.

He smiled faintly to himself as he carefully opened the backpack to put it away — but just as he did, a powerful gust of wind blew past, swooping it out of his loose grasp.

_"No!"_

_Shit shit shit._ Heaving himself up on unsteady legs, he chased the picture as it fluttered down the street, paying zero attention to the grunting and cursing around him as he elbowed his way forward.

"Fuck!"

A storm sewer approached. He kept his eyes on the photo, basically throwing himself on the ground to reach for it, wincing when his kneecaps hit the asphalt — but it was too late. It fell between the bars and into the muddy abyss.

"No, no, no, _no_..."

Remaining on his knees and with his fingers desperately gripping the iron bars, he applied as much pressure as he humanly could. But it wouldn't budge, no matter how hard he pulled.

Inside his chest, his heart thrashed about, a meltdown gurgling in his throat. But before he could get any further, a pair of sturdy boots planted themselves next to him. With his fingers still clenched around the bars, Hyunjin glanced sideways, before craning his head to peer up at the broad, badge-clad chest towering over him.

"What in _god's_ name is going on here? Young man, what are you doing?!"

Wiping a shaking hand over his eyelids, he watched the officer’s lip stiffly curling. A small crowd had gathered around them, citizens curious to see what the commotion was about. When Hyunjin just remained quiet and teary-eyed, the man’s patience grew thin.

"Well?!"

"S-sir, I dropped my photo down this sewer, I need it, please, it’s really important to me...would there be any way of opening it?"

Forcing down a sob, he tried to catch sight of the photo. It was there, floating in the murky sewer, he could see the outline of it. But the police officer’s verdict reached him from above, less than understanding.

"Well sorry kid, but these sewers don't get opened to fish out photos. Now get up, chop chop, you’re blocking traffic."

There was an impatient tap on his shoulder. But Hyunjin didn’t move a limb, still stubbornly peeking between the bars. He let out a whimper the next second, as fingers closed around his upper arm in a bruising grip.

" _Kid,_ get up.”

"Ow, _stop —_ ”

He’d been hauled up in a less than considerate manner, like he was a ragdoll to be thrown around. Fuming and shaking with unshed tears, he wrenched himself loose, backing up a few steps as he watched the police officer’s hand hover close to his baton.

“Get moving.”

“Don't have to fucking _grab_ me you ass, I'm _going_."

The last he saw before he turned was multiple pairs of judgemental eyes and the stiff-lipped male’s condescending glare on him. He was well familiar with it — the way they all looked at him. Like he was trash, like they just expected him to be a lawbreaker, some small time thief or delinquent just because his knees were caked in dirt after rough sleeping.

With unwelcome, angry tears clouding his vision, he hurried down the street aimlessly after fetching his backpack. Passing rows and rows of anonymous individuals on their way to places, all with a destination in mind — not like him, he who just drifted.

A ding in his pocket alerted him of a text message. It had taken some time, but he'd actually started to keep the sound on now. 

As he read it, he gradually slowed down, not paying attention to where he stepped until he nearly crashed into a street light. 

A smile started somewhere at the outer corners of his mouth, slowly overtaking his entire face. And he was as powerless against it as he was scared. Equally scared and elated as he saw the name of the sender. The name that was a strong contender for snatching first place in the category most enticing combination of letters ever to exist _ever._

It flowed so seamlessly out of his mouth, as he experimentally said it, to no one in particular. 

_Jisung. Jisung Jisung Jisung Jisung._

* * *

After slamming the car door shut and grabbing the two takeaway bags, Jisung happily leapt in the direction of Hyunjins favorite park. He’d agreed to hang out. _Again._ And that was most unfathomable, considering the rocky start they had.

Texting him was always a gamble, though. Never in his life had Jisung been so nervous about communicating with someone, and every time he sent Hyunjin a message he was prepared for either burning rejection or downright ghosting. 

Because despite actually meeting Jisung on a number of occasions since that evening at the café two weeks ago, he still kept him safely at arm's length. Squeezing even the tiniest bit of information out of him was a whole process, one that Jisung wasn’t very skilled at. Yet.

But at times, he almost forgot that they came from such different backgrounds.They met up for walks, hung out, watched a couple of movies at Jisungs place. And yet, Jisung just couldn’t for the love of him get to the bottom of Hyunjin's ever-changing duality. Because on one hand, he had this ominous feeling that the guy was about to just slip through his fingers, but on the other…

...he sent out signals that suggested he was warming up to Jisung, just a little. The smile was lured out of him easier, and he didn’t flinch to the other end of the room at the lightest touch anymore.

This fact made Jisung’s brain perform constant somersaults out of joy, until he felt all loopy and breathless.

In his mind it was so crystal clear. He'd already conjured a plan and he was set on following it through. Because you could call Han Jisung many things, but lacking in determination was _not_ one of them. He'd just slowly, slowly cajole Hyunjin into staying a little longer each time, so that he'd eventually just fall asleep on the couch and...stay the night and then just, like...keep doing that.

And voilà. Hyunjin would essentially be living at his place. Easy as pie. 

But not according to Hyunjin, since he'd stubbornly refused so far no matter how persuasive and shamelessly whiny Jisung got. But little did he know that Jisung had more plans for him. Like, plans to ask his dad to maybe assist him in finding him a job...or a place to study and...meanwhile he could just live at Jisung’s apartment.

The more threads he spun on that idea, the more he liked it. Hell, his apartment was a whole castle, there was more than enough space. Sleeping on the street just wasn't a life, and Jisung would be damned if he wouldn’t be able to convince Hyunjin of it soon enough.

The park was buzzing with the laughter of playing children and chirping of grasshoppers as he approached. Glancing at his exposed arms, he hummed in smug appreciation. Oddly enough, his interest for the gym had skyrocketed since he met Hyunjin, something that Minho hadn't failed to notice and comment on.

Except that Minho thought he was working out to look fit for his _sugar daddy._ If only he knew.

Hyunjin was lounging in his favorite spot in the grass underneath an oak tree, away from the ruckus. Jisung let out a little revered sigh as he studied him, the white tee showing the faint contours of his chest, the curves in his neck as his head lolled back, the bleached hair, pushed back in wisps to expose his forehead.

It was always like the first time he saw him. Two days since the last time, and even that felt too long.

"Hey!"

And that sparkle in his tone as he greeted Jisung. The way it climbed in pitch each time, and flowed, softly, so very softly, like an enchanting melody in his ears.

"Hey, Hyunjin." Jisung sank down in front of him, setting the bags and the blanket he brought with him down. "Damn, I missed you.”

It took a few seconds of blinking confoundedly at Hyunjin’s boxy, raised brows, until he realized he'd just said that part of his very internal monologue out loud.

Sheepishly making a show out of organizing the blanket, he was just about to smooth that over somehow, but turned out he didn’t have to. Hyunjin's entire lower lip disappeared into his mouth as he sucked on it abashedly, before he — almost inaudibly — mumbled a response.

“I...missed you too."

And Jisung burst into a smile, chipmunk teeth and all.

“Brought food. Did you wait long? Didn’t know what you felt like having so...I just got... everything.”

Motioning to _everything —_ noodles, chicken and kimchi fried rice — he grabbed the nearest box. Hyunjin let his eyes roam over it all with his usual, awestruck look.

“Jisung...you’re insane.”

But he said it while clutching his cheeks with his palms and a moment later he excitedly poked the noodles with a pair of chopsticks. Slurping and chewing followed, while the sun comfortably warmed up their backs.

But despite his chattiness and the fact he finally ate without inhibition, Jisung did notice the strained expression flash in his face intermittently. Because he'd become quite the expert at Hyunjin-specific mannerisms already. Not that it was difficult. Every single emotion showed generously in those animated features, like all the time, even when he tried to hide them.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah…”

It came too quickly, so Jisung just waited a moment. Eventually, Hyunjin set the chopsticks down, fingers vacantly playing in the grass.

“...or well...I lost my photo. The only one I have left of my mom and my sister. Dropped it into sewer and...probably won’t be able to retrieve it.”

“Oh shit. I’m sorry.”

Jisung found it odd that he only had one single picture. Feeling bold, he decided to expand on the topic. 

“So...you don’t have any more then? You don’t have...a…”

 _Childhood home._ A home he could visit with...photo albums...and stuff. But it was quite obvious by now, that he didn’t.

There was just the briefest hint of a head shake. Jisung shifted in the sweltering heat, pulling as his t-shirt collar. Should he press? Should he not press? The bustling and susurrating of the kids and trees surrounding them seemed to put Hyunjin at ease, so might be worth risking it.

“How long, um...if you don’t mind me asking. How long ago did they...pass?”

Hyunjin’s chopsticks scraped at the bottom of the cardboard box, absently as he hesitated a moment. “Long. In a car crash, when I was a teenager.”

Then, there was nothing, just the mellow breeze gently blanketing them. But just as Jisung was about to change the subject, Hyunjin’s mouth fell open, a whole monologue tumbling out of him, out of nowhere.

“...we uh...my dad, he...isn’t really in the picture anymore. After my mom and sister died, I was passed to a number of foster families. But I never stuck with any of them, because it always felt like they wanted like...a younger kid, not a moody teen like me. Just always felt like a burden and I got into quite a lot of trouble, so...at some point…”

As he continued, he turned away from Jisung, his gaze fixed on some children playing hopscotch in the distance. 

“...I ran away. I was on my own, I just...lived on the street. Except for a while when I had my own place...because I had a job. Like, a different, regular kind of job...and I even went to school for some time, at first, but…"

When he uttered the word school his eyes crinkled ever so lightly in delight, but it didn't last. As he ended it, his fingers were back to ripping grass from the ground. Jisung hadn’t even moved, hadn’t even breathed for the entirety of his retelling. He thought of that night in his guest room, when Hyunjin had been on the verge of almost spilling something. The same vacant, disconnected look was visible in his face, now.

“...some things happened. Like...some...not very good things.” Hyunjin’s hand went limp, his chin dropping. “And then...I just ended up...where I am now.”

And that was the end of it. His jaw remained steadily shut. And the intensity of the situation slammed into Jisung with full force.

Hyunjin was homeless. And an almost- _orphan._

He kept quiet while his organs slowly crumpled into moldy fruit inside him. This was the brightest, most beautiful picture-perfect day of spring, and he’d just been told the grimmest of tales. The cotton in his veins and the buzzing fruit flies in his chest choked him up as he tried to think of something comforting, something even vaguely satisfying to say.

Everything that came to mind fell short

“What an absolute cliché, huh," Hyunjin muttered. He followed up with a sarcastic laugh, completely unfit for the situation, and Jisung cringed. At how downtrodden he sounded, how self-despising when there was absolutely no need.

“No. Don’t say that. You're not a cliché, you just had a rough time, and...don't put yourself down."

Scooting closer, he settled his hand over Hyunjin’s, seizing the jittery fingers before they could start picking on elbows or arms or anything else non-inanimate.

“Hyunjin...I’m sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry you had to go through that."

“Not your fault. It is what it is. Life.”

He drew a shaky breath, ripping up another tuft of grass. The thin veil that hid everything was forced back onto his face.

Jisung tried, even though he already knew the answer. 

"Are you sure I can't convince you to come stay with m—"

"Jisung please." Hyunjin was near-pleading him, eyebrows dejectedly arched over vulnerable eyes. "Let's talk about something else. Tell me about your classes. How’s Minho and Felix and everyone?”

“Oh, ah well…"

The moment of revelation was gone like poof. And Jisung knew that if he poked and prodded him now, he'd just shut himself further. Or bail out on him, or both. 

"Same old same old you know...Minho is still mocking my squishy hamster cheeks daily, as usual...”

"Well…" Jisung watched his hand suddenly emerge. And then, he was _squished._ By Hyunjin, whose grossly (adorably) arrogant smile was in place as he withdrew.

"...to be honest...they are quite squishy."

With his jaw falling open, Jisung pretended to be mock-hurt. All faked, obviously, because in reality he was cheering at the fact that Hyunjin had just made a kind-of-joke.

“Hey,” he frowned, “Take that back right this instant.”

"Nope."

"Take it back!"

_"Make me."_

He shouldn’t have worded it like that, so suggestively. Before he could say another word, Jisung had launched forward and made for his wrists, ready to wrestle him to the ground, but he was just a fraction of a second too late. Scrambling backwards, Hyunjin let out a squeal as Jisung crawled up to chase him down.

"Come back here! You said my cheeks were nice!"

"Did I? Have no recollection of that," Hyunjin tittered as he peeked out from behind the oak tree he’d taken cover behind. Jisung leapt at him, nearly catching him, but the next second he saw his disappearing back as he took off running in the opposite direction.

Jisung wasn't late to follow. And interestingly enough, despite Hyunjin's long, Herculean legs and athletic build, Jisung was faster. He squeaked with all kinds of charming sounds as he was caught, the back of his t-shirt gathered into a fist to slow him down.

"Got ya, _buddy."_

One firm yank later, and both of them tumbled to the ground. 

But as they descended, Jisungs palms hit the grass and — somehow — he ended up half-laying on top of Hyunjin. And his face ended up inches from his. _Inches._

Losing all ability to speak, he felt warm breaths fanning his cheek while Hyunjin straightened out underneath him, shock mixed with curiousity written all over his face. Neither of them spoke, they just...stared. At each other, while rays of electricity slowly sparked in every part of Jisung’s body.

He had a front row seat of everything. He saw the sun reflected in Hyunjin's irises, every single shade of brown and black and gold mingling in them like liquid, every thick, thick lash framing them and every tremble of his lips and twitch of his nose.

Get off him. _Get off now._

But before he could, Hyunjin propped himself up on his elbows, and pressed their lips together.

Jisung’s thoughts — his whole existence — came to a halt.

He felt Hyunjin's firm chest rise and fall, slotted closely against his own, felt the blood practically rush through him, his muscles expand and contort, felt his lips — so pillowy as they nibbled at his — felt his tongue, as it very, very tentatively ventured into his mouth.

And then it was over and Hyunjin jerked away, the fever in his eyes morphing into regret.

"I'm so sorry, Jisung —"

"No. No. No. No sorries." As he saw Jisung fiercely shake his head, Hyunjin went still. He waited, until a hand threaded into his hair, continuing down his neck and grasping it, lightly, tenderly.

"...can I kiss you again? Can I?"

Hyunjin nodded, and nodded and nodded dazedly and then his lips moved so impossibly close again. 

It was fumbly at first but then the heat flowed between them, and the kisses turned hastier, sloppier. Jisung pushed down against Hyunjin’s slender torso, one hand tangled in his hair and the other cradling his cheek, his legs bracketed around his thighs where they lay in the tall grass. 

Hyunjin’s fingers brushed over his back, pulling him in. Until they were close, so very close, until he could feel every little shiver running through his body.

Until there only was a thin layer of fabric separating them.

Fuck. Jisung had to contain himself because he was — yeah. Getting kinda semi-hard. It didn't help that Hyunjin was a fucking talented kisser. 

He didn't want to, but after a few minutes they had to crawl up, as a little family strolled past and started shooting them questionable glances. They were in a public park after all, goodness sakes.

Eventually, after gathering all the empty boxes, they landed in front of Jisung's car, about to go their separate ways because Hyunjin had to go to work. Jisung’s heart was still thrumming in excitement, his body still on fire after the very touchy feely encounter.

By then he'd fallen for the guy, as if he hadn't already. 

"So...that was...nice." He had no idea what he was doing with his face, he hadn’t for the last ten minutes. Probably smirking like an idiot, unable to tear his eyes from Hyunjin for a single second.

"Yeah...it was...nice," Hyunjin seconded, blushing cutely as ever.

"I'll text you?"

"Counting on it."

Before Hyunjin left, he brushed fingers down Jisung’s bicep, and finished by lacing them into his, just momentarily.

And when Jisung drove home, still stuck in delirium, there wasn’t just one single baby plant inhabiting his chest. Nah. There was a whole damn greenhouse’s worth of them.

* * *

Reality whisked Jisung up on cloud nine for the next few days. For once, it was effortless. Hyunjin carved himself further into his mind, into his heart. And they exchanged constant messages. Like, _cute_ messages. 

The kinds newly besotted young lovers sent each other, with smileys and hearts and all. The kinds that promised a bright, glimmering future. The kind of future where every single one of Jisung’s plans fulfilled easily and breezily.

But there was just one tiny gray cloud looming on the horizon, though. Just one little detail he apparently had missed, amidst all his giddy infatuation. 

Bang Christopher Chan, a man of his word, always stuck with what he said. And that’s why, a few days later, a Saturday, Jisung found himself standing in a soup kitchen downtown. Wearing an apron, and serving tteokbokki to thankful, homeless citizens under Chris’ watchful eyes.

And that was all well and good. Minho grumbled and whined like a little kid, but Chris had no issues with coaxing Jisung along, because giving back to the community felt great. Not to mention he was most passionate about the cause, all of a sudden.

The thing was, he hadn’t expected a certain cute blonde to walk in. Exactly 43 minutes after they arrived, just as they were all elbows deep in tteokbokki and sweating buckets in the stuffy kitchen. 

But once it happened, it seemed obvious, and upon seeing him, Jisung’s heart fell all the way into his ass. 

They were currently at a soup kitchen for the _homeless_. Hyunjin _was_ homeless. Somehow, Jisung had failed to acknowledge he actually might have to frequent places like this all the time.

“Jisung...it’s overflowing...Jisung...Jisung... _Jisung!”_

“Oh...shit…”

He’d been glued on the spot, hands vacantly continuing to spoon tteokbokki into a bowl while his eyes were absolutely transfixed on the tall figure lingering in the doorway. Momentarily ripping his eyes from him, he studied the stains he’d managed to create on the table below them, while Chris remained nonplussed next to him.

“Jisung, what’s up with you? You look really pale all of a sudden—"

“He spent like two hours at the gym earlier, maybe that’s why. Might have pulled a muscle in his ass while squatting,” Minho chirped. Squeezing his arms, he followed it up with something Jisung failed to hear — because he was preoccupied with following Hyunjin’s every move.

He hadn’t noticed him yet. And now Jisung watched, almost in slow motion, as he started jostling his way towards them. His gaze brushed over the floor, hands pushed in his pockets, until he reached them, accepting the bowl Chris so thoughtfully already had on standby.

“Thank y —"

The sentence was left unfinished as he finally raised his chin to look at them. And Jisung’s soup-stained apron was definitely not his main concern right now. Nor his hair net and the fact it most certainly didn’t flatter him at all. Nope, what concerned him was the absolute look of _dread_ that slowly twisted Hyunjin’s features as he recognized him.

“Jisung,” he said flatly. And then not a single more peep. 

“You two know each other?”

Chris, Felix and Minho’s gazes switched rapidly between them, unuttered questions evident on their faces. Jisung scratched his neck, the ladle still in his hand as he made and effort to deal with the situation.

“Uh...yeah. Hyunjin...these are my friends I told you about...Minho, Felix and Chris.”

The trio braved uncertain smiles at Hyunjin where he stood, shifting on his feet and looking like he wanted to jetpack the hell away, right now. A series of awkward _hello’s_ and _how are you’s_ followed, but Jisung just had eyes for Hyunjin as he grew stiffer and stiffer. Eventually, he cleared his throat with a strained cough, eyes zapping to the exit.

“Nice to meet you but uh...I actually have to go, sorry. See you, Jisung.”

That was it. The discussion was over before it even had a chance to start. A line had formed behind him, so Jisung had no other choice but to witness him turn with one last reserved glance at him. As he watched his hunched shoulders disappear out the door, he felt someone poke him in the side. 

“Jisung, who’s this guy? Where did you meet him?”

Jisung couldn’t do anything but shake his head in disbelief. Somehow it felt like the house of cards had crumbled, even though nothing had been said. Nothing of value. But that was the problem. 

The look of absolute devastation was enough, Jisung knew what it meant.

Reeling in the aftermath of it all, he wished he’d never stepped foot here today. Firstly, because Hyunjin apparently was so broke that he had to resort to coming _here_. Somehow Jisung had never considered that he might, and it didn’t make sense because...he got a paycheck monthly. And secondly, because he was pretty sure he’d just seen another glimpse of Hyunjins life he’d desperately tried to keep hidden.

* * *

An hour later, all Jisung's messages had been met with silence. And another hour later, the three of them — sans Chris, who had to take his leave after sternly telling them to “make good choices” — occupied Jisungs apartment. Chattering, like a bunch of gossiping middle-aged women, about what had gone down earlier.

“Dude," Minho started as he and Felix were seated. "...so let me get this straight...this dude is like...your _dude_?”

Jisung was pacing the living room. Panicking well, just a _little_ bit. 

“Yes, Minho, always so eloquent, aren't you. That's one way to put it. Even though…we’re not like...together."

“But you want to be?”

“Well...maybe...”

Well a big fat maybe. Even though at the moment all progress seemed lost for whatever reason, and Jisung's concern was rising. Because Hyunjin refused to reply to the onslaught of messages. _Again._

And granted, he might be busy. But Jisung sent one immediately after he left the soup kitchen and that one remained unread too and it just felt like a terribly bad omen.

 _"Wait…"_ Minho had just realized the fact that Jisung mentioned the words _prostitute_ and _stripper_ earlier. Jisung watched his and Felix's eyes widen in sync until the former started theatrically gesticulating as he rambled.

“Jisung...did...you... _buy_ this guy’s services? Did he give you a BJ in your car?! Christ…you absolutely perverted bastard of a chipmunk.” 

_“No,_ shut up. I didn’t and he didn't."

It was a actually in his _living room_ , but it's not like they had to know that.

Jisung glared at Minho as he fell back into the cushions with a breathy laugh, eyebrows bobbing suggestively up and down. “Hey, Jisungie...if you were _that_ desperate you could have come to me...you know I’m bi, we could have worked something out, know what I’m saying." 

Ending it with a wink, he chewed his lower lip in a wildly inappropriate manner that made Felix stare disgustedly at him for about a whole minute.

“Minho, you’re sick.”

“I'll just take that as a compliment.”

Jisung let his palm slide down his cheek. This had turned into a whole mess. Instead of listening to any more of Minho’s wisecracking, he decided to just throw himself into a very detailed explanation of everything that had gone down lately. Starting from the evening they met, to today when they...kissed. With every word, Felix’s jaw fell a few inches, while Minho seemed to question if he was living in some kind of soap opera at the moment. 

"You kissed. I need a drink. This is wild," he announced, stomping towards the kitchen. Jisung rubbed his temples. Right now it didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

"I knew it…I knew something was up with you that night. You were zonked out the whole time,” Felix ruminated, shrugging at the memory of that bizarre evening. “So you actually really like the guy? Like...really like him?”

“I mean...I didn’t plan on it but...yeah. It just kinda happened.”

Jisung pulled a suffering grimace, resuming the pacing and occasionally kicking the rug and growling in frustration. It was torture, actual torture to receive the silent treatment again, now that he and Hyunjin had made so much progress in their...relationship. 

_Was it a relationship?_

When Minho sauntered into view again after having raided Jisung's alcohol stash, Jisung practically ripped one of the bottles out of his hands and took a swig. After pouring some for himself and occupying the couch again, Minho shook his head as if ridding himself of an annoying fly. 

"I totally understand that guy acting awkward. I mean he was basically ambushed by four stuck up rich guys who could buy that whole place, while he can't even afford his own dinner. Probably never wants to see our guts ever again."

Jisung could basically hear his own heart cracking in his chest as he just stared blankly ahead. Yeah. It had looked exactly like that, now that he thought of it. Like he was embarrassed about being seen there, receiving pitiful looks from individuals who were so much better off than him. 

_"I mean,"_ Minho stammered after Felix waved a warning hand in front of his throat "...of _course_ he wants to see _you_ again! Duh. Hey."

He shot off the couch, suddenly resolute. "...I know what you have to do."

Jisung and Felix exchanged perplexed looks, both of them remaining shifty-eyed and flummoxed until Jisung breached the silence.

"Um...what?”

“You should go there."

"Go...where."

"To the strip club, _duh_.”

He said it as if it was the most logical thing in the world, one hand pointing at the window in direction of downtown and the other waving the bottle of soju around. Jisung regarded him, his eyes a little glossy as he tried to fathom how they’d suddenly ended up here.

"Yeah…" he pondered, brows furrowing. "Maybe...I should?”

"You totally should, I mean it's Saturday, he should be at work right? And he's not answering. We should go out and then you can stop by and check up on him. Another brilliant idea by your pal Lee Minho."

"Minho," Felix interjected, letting out a reprimanding _tut._ "...you just want an excuse to ogle hot strippers."

"I DO NOT! The audacity, I just want to help a friend in need!"

While they bickered, Jisung made a real effort to still the whirlwind that was his current thoughts. If Chris was here, it would have been a hard _nope._ Because Jisung couldn’t just barge in. Especially not when he was tipsy. Especially not while Hyunjin was _working._

But he wasn’t, and that’s why a pair of very wobbly Minho and Felix stuffed him into a cab a few hours later. That’s why he and two very jumpy-looking friends ended up in front of a very seedy establishment with a massive bouncer idling just outside, in an area they most never just habitually visited.

After some fumbling with ID’s and cash, they were given the all clear to enter. Jisung spared one last shaky look at the red-glowing letters stating _Fun Factory_ above the entrance, before closing fingers around the door handle.

But when they made it inside, he was much less shell shocked than he'd expected. The institution itself was underwhelming. It just looked like any other stereotypical strip joint, not like he had much experience with them — well, _zero_ — but it seemed very run-of-the-mill. A bar, stripper poles, lowlights, red vinyl couches, low ambience, sultry tunes playing in the background. 

Feeling droplets of sweat forming underneath his button down, his eyes instantly started darting around the place in search of Hyunjin. He vaguely registered scantily clad men squirming up and down on the stage, beer-sipping customers surrounding them in heaps. Caught in a trance, he let Minho pull him forward, while listening to him and Felix excitedly titter and hiccup in unison as they soaked the place up.

This was...weird.

As they reached the bar, Jisung saw one of the performers on stage hunch down to listen to something a very intoxicated customer wanted to whisper in his ear. But not a blonde someone, it was a brunette.

"Let's...um…get a drink, huh," Felix suggested somewhere next to him. Squinting, Jisung scanned the whole establishment while the other two were occupied. But there were no tall, blonde guys anywhere in sight, not a single one. 

He almost felt a wave of relief at the fact. But it didn’t last. 

As he accepted the bottle of beer Felix held out to him, his eyes landed in the very far corner close to the DJ booth, featuring a collection of chairs secluded from the rest of the customers.

And at that moment, the whole situation instantly transformed into some trippy dream. Because in that corner, some twenty feet from Jisung, the only guy with bleached hair in sight was busy. Busy body rolling, all over a vaguely outlined character seated right underneath him.

_Hyunjin._

It was dark, but he recognized him from behind. His hair was gathered into a haphazard ponytail, leather pants glued to his legs like a second skin, the entire lean expanse of his midriff exposed by a minimal crop top. Red straps — some kind of harness — criss crossed his chest, hugging it tightly.

 _Okay._ _Okay, okay, okay._

While he gradually ran hot with an unidentified feeling — anger-tinged jealousy — Jisung watched him grind his ass against the guy's crotch as he moved to the slow, lazy beat. Minho and Felix droned about something in his peripheral vision, he wasn't really sure what. It didn’t really matter.

_Fuck._

He'd imagined this moment, what it would be like to witness it, but never did he think it would feel like this. Bile rose from his stomach in waves, and it wasn’t even because of the booze. The anonymous male’s hands twitched, fingers traveling very close to Hyunjins hips. _He better not fucking put them on —_

Oh, he almost _fucking_ did. Jisung had to use all his willpower not to rush forward and swat his slimy hands away. Just as he was nearly about to, a disco light roamed over Hyunjin’s cheeks, painting them in rich pastel colors.

The heavily coal-lined eyes caught his, interlocking for a fragment of a second. And during that short moment, Jisung was floored. By the unfamiliarity in his face, the glitter coating his cheekbones. Shiny, perspiring cheeks, sensually parted lips.

His eyelashes tilted downward again. He hadn't noticed Jisung yet.

Images of Hyunjin as Jisung knew him flitted through his brain — the shy, reserved guy who barely dared kiss him without turning into a blushing, stammering mess — surely it couldn't be the same person, _it couldn't._ This...this had to be someone else.

But it wasn't. It was him.

Next to him Minho poked him hard in the ribs, but it didn't register. All Jisung had eyes for was the scene unraveling before him. The guy's hands wandered again, gingerly. Dangerously close to Hyunjin's thighs and ass. 

Jisungs hands balled into fists. 

No. No, no, no, not Hyunjin.

Not _his_ Hyunjin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I referenced a song by another group in this chap. wonder if anyone picked up on it (´ω｀*)


	6. silence and noise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> H I
> 
> Short vent no one asked for: uuuh I'm drowning in assignments and exams, plz universe let me breathe. Let me write fanfic all day instead ok ty /vent
> 
> Anyways, no warnings for this chapter except tense situations, but nothing explicitly violent
> 
> Ty for reading ♡ all the comments on the previous chap made me  
> positively giddy and very grateful. Take care

_Hyunjin_ _—_ off limits and just doing his job.

 _Chair_ — accomodating a slimy stranger who was currently looking at Hyunjin like he was goddamn food.

 _Hands_ — too close to swaying hips and about to take liberties they had no stinking right to.

As Jisung watched the sickening scene play out, he tried to restrain the urge to interfere. He really did. But while he fought with himself, he saw Hyunjin turn again — back arched and writhing as he grinded on top of the guy — and jolt. The customer's calculating hands had just clamped down on his ass, to _squeeze._ Like, _really_. Not just accidentally graze, but squeeze as if Hyunjins leather-clad cheeks were two of those spongy, stress-relieving balls.

 _Oh hell nah_.

"Jisung...Jisung...Jisung?"

Still caught in the sluggish embrace of alcohol, Jisung had one goal in mind. Sock the guy in the face. Felix's voice echoed disjointedly behind him as he darted forward, managing one, two, three wobbly steps — but when he'd nearly made it, Hyunjin took matters into his own hands. The slippery paws were slapped off, his chunky boots scurrying over the sticky floor as he stumbled away from him.

"Don't you fucking _touch_ me, that's not part of —”

The exclamation was cut short when he backed too far — and collided with Jisungs chest. As he swung around with a yelp, there was a second's worth of wordless shock. A slow, stuttered _"...Jisung?"_ before chaos ensued.

Mr Touchy Feely shot up like a rocket, fuming and gesticulating dramatically. The music stopped, and Jisung was too late to notice his hand emerge, closing around a strap on Hyunjins harness and roughly yanking him back.

"What the hell is your problem? I didn't even do anything, are you telling me that a common whore is that sensitive when it comes to —”

And that's how far he got. Because by then, Jisung was already up in his face, hissing and yapping at him like a fire-spitting hellhound. Exactly what, he wasn't really sure — probably _shibal_ and _you're the hoe_ and _whatever-the-fuck_ — but spit was flying and multiple hands tugging on the back of his shirt. Next he was pushed, and _truly,_ as a pacifist, the very embodiment of gentle and harmless, he very much resisted violence — but right now, he was ready to bitchslap this cretin all the way to Incheon unless someone stopped him real fucking soon.

Well, they did. A chorus of screaming followed, fists making almost-contact with calloused cheeks, but he was ripped away before any real damage could be done. The meaty arms looped around him belonged to a bull-necked security guard. He would have dragged him into oblivion if it wasn’t for Hyunjin who launched after them, nervously rambling at a thousand miles per hour.

"Wait, wait, wait, let him go, he really didn't do anything, he was just trying to —”

"What on _earth_ is going on here? Gentlemen, stop at once!"

A thundering voice slashed through the mayhem, wide shoulders appearing to prevent Mr Touchy Feely from throwing himself at Jisung. As the newcomer — a steely-gazed and freakishly tall man — repeated the question a second time, everyone erupted in simultaneous chatter. He listened, for a minute or so, before silencing them with a raised hand.

"Everyone calm down. Hyunjin. What's going on here?"

Minho and Felix idled next to them, intermittently hiccuping while they considered just grabbing Jisung and hightail out of here. The whole club had paused what they were doing, lights flicking on out nowhere to illuminate the fallen chair and the flock of individuals surrounding it. 

While avoiding Mr Touchy Feely’s poisonous glares, Hyunjin bowed to the tall man, quickly and choppily.

"Mr Park, I was um...giving this customer…" He pointed a hesitant finger his way, "...a lap dance, but...he started groping me and behaving very inappropriately."

Somehow, Jisung had expected the intimidating male who must work here — _Mr Park_ — to peg Hyunjin as the troublemaker and start barking insults at him. He just looked like the type, the "customer is always right"-type. But the opposite happened. When he addressed the seething customer, his inky eyes were dangerously ablaze.

"Get out. Right now, before I drag you outside by your balls."

Jisung blinked, slightly intimidated by that very unpleasant-sounding threat that thankfully wasn't directed at him. When the security guard released him in favor of grabbing Mr Touchy Feely, Minho took his place. Sneaking an inconspicuous arm around Jisung, he prepared to transport him the fuck out of here — but before he could get that far, Mr Park’s narrow-eyed attention had shifted to the pair of them.

"So who are you then? We appreciate your help, but you didn't have to get quite so _hands_ _on_."

"Ah...sorry sir, I just —”

"He actually helped me," Hyunjin quickly chimed in. "He...saw the guy touching me and...yeah."

A cloud of silence rolled in. The music was turned up again in the background, the activities resumed. Jisung peeked at Hyunjin where he stood, a few feet from him with his eyes planted on the floor in odd, quiet submission. 

"You know him?"

As Mr Park asked him the sharp question, he appeared strangely startled.

"Well...kind of...we're...uh, just acquaintances."

"I see." Mr Park pawed at his tie, looking like he wanted Hyunjin to expand on the matter. But nothing else came out, except a cordial smile directed Jisung’s way.

"Well, young gentlemen, please enjoy your evening. Hyunjin, come on, backstage."

Ring-covered fingers wrapped around Hyunjin's shoulders, leading him away like he was a dog on a leash. Jisung expected him to...well, he wasn't entirely sure what. Protest? Because why did he have to follow him backstage? 

Fat alarm bells started ringing, morphing into hands making for Hyunjins wrist before Felix and Minho had a chance to stop him.

"Uh, wait, actually...could I request a dance from Hyunjin? Like, in one of those private rooms?"

Mr Park regarded him coolly as he digested the request. Hyunjin remained by his side, pressed to his dark purple dress shirt by a steady hand. 

"Private dance is 50k.”

Jisungs eyes turned into unimpressed slits as he made his best effort to unfurl to his — quite modest — full posture. Okay, _Mr Fancy Ass maybe-strip club owner_. That tone was just a little bit too condescending for his liking.

"That's no problem," he stated dryly.

"Well." Mr Park remained thin-lipped, peering down at him from his approximately six, maybe six and a half feet's height. "If Hyunjin here is up for it, then I suppose why not."

Hyunjin shifted, completely deflating in his presence, whoever he was. As it appeared, he was ready to just let decisions be made on his behalf, but when he noticed the questioning looks and registered what had been said, he instantly transformed into a stammering mess. After some unintelligible hacking, something sounding like _whatever_ came out. 

As Jisung was seized by the hand and dragged off, he felt Mr Park’s gaze lingering on his back, burning like laser beams.

Inside the small, fiery-red room, the sweltering awkwardness between them remained. Okay, that was kind of Jisung’s fault, because he was sure Hyunjin was just bubbling with urgent questions right now. Like, why the fuck Jisung was even here. Sinking down on the faux-leather couch, he glanced to the empty spot next to him, wondering if Hyunjin might sit as well. 

He didn't.

"Are...you okay?"

Hyunjin nodded with a sniff, leaning against the paisley-patterned wall. Zero moves were made to go anywhere near Jisung.

"Was that your boss? What kind of relationship do you guys have exactly?"

Another subtle nod, nipping further questions in the bud. Okay, alright. But Jisung couldn't help but sound like a tiny, angrily buzzing bee as he followed it up with a grumpy statement.

"He seemed very protective of you."

There was an indifferent shrug, and no further elaboration on the matter.

Inside, Jisung was boiling. He had a massive issue. The massive issue were those fucking fingers curled around Hyunjin's shoulder so possessively. Plus...maybe the fact that Mr Strip Club had been kinda sorta okayish looking, in the tall, dark and handsome-way.

"Anyway," Hyunjin threw out, adjusting one of the loosened, red straps over his chest. "Are you gonna have your dance or not? You paid big bucks for it."

"I...no, I didn't mean like...that's not why I... —”

While his brain was stuck on buffer, in search of the appropriate answer, Hyunjin slinked up to him. So did his face, his palms as he planted them on either side of Jisung — his voice as he veered to the side, brushing close to his ear.

"You're not allowed to touch me though."

" _Um_...uh...of course not."

_God, what the hell._

He sucked in a breath as Hyunjin flipped around, spread his thighs and bracketed Jisung where he sat. _Shit._ The music pumped, flowing into him in the form of acute tachycardia as Hyunjin started moving. God, _double shit_ and what the hell. He wasn't sure he could handle this right now. The frustration inside him evaporated in a great rush, a harsh exhalation — replaced, by worming tingles (and that rude fucking boner making its presence known without his permission).

Biting the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from doing exactly what that slimeball had earlier, he watched, foggily as Hyunjin squirmed against him, almost landing in his lap a couple times. He swung around, fair strands of hair escaping the ponytail and framing his soft cheeks, his lips trapped between his teeth as he let out a — yup.

A fucking _moan_. He must be playing Jisung on purpose.

Then, somehow, they were nose to nose. _Triple shit._ Jisung's arms hung limply next to him, his body aching for...well, everything. Like it was, most of the time. Hyunjin's lips hovered close to his for just a moment — and then his mouth was suddenly on Jisung's. Hungry and sloppy and so goddamn velvety as his tongue made its way inside.

Jisung slipped away somewhere, relishing in the blessed moment, until it came to an abrupt end. Hyunjin withdrew with a grimace, a thin string of spit connecting their lips briefly before he wiped it off.

"Sorry. I'm sorry."

"It's...okay…”

_It’s very, very okay._

But he didn't get another word out as Hyunjin's winding spine contorted in front of him again. God, he wanted to touch it — press thumbs into his back dimples, ghost a hand over his ass, hold him, _now now now._

But after the fleetingly tender interaction, the rough atmosphere made a comeback, intensifying tenfold.

This wasn't right. It obviously wasn't right even though the guy of his wet dreams was grinding his ass all over him, even his idiot self understood as much, even in his drunken haze.

When he was about to tell Hyunjin to just stop, there was a dull thud, knees making contact with the floor. His face bathed in the soft, pastel red lights, spiky shadows cast over his cheekbones when he looked up with an impassive stare. 

"You want a BJ too?"

Jisung blinked down at him dumbly, completely and utterly thrown off.

"Wha — what?"

"I mean...that's why you're here right?” Hyunjin laughed, way too bitterly, hands knitted on top of Jisung's thighs. "Thought it would be fun to come try me out?"

The music turned into screeching nails on a chalkboard, the atmosphere thickening with smog. And Jisung exploded with verbal projectile vomit, not able to dispel that absolutely false notion fast enough.

"No...no, no, no. No, what the fuck, absolutely not. That's not it at all, that's the farthest from the truth you can even—"

"Then what? We're at a strip club, Jisung." 

If Jisung had a flamethrower right now, he'd do Hyunjin the honors of burning himself into a neat pile of dust that he could scatter in a swamp in the woods somewhere. Because his good-for-nothing-brain was never quick enough, always belatedly realizing how his actions must come across. And again, he could do nothing but rambling in defense.

"...yeah, we are. I'm sorry, you offered and...god. I'm such an idiot. I just wanted to talk privately to you, I swear...fuck. I shouldn't have come, and it was honestly so stupid. My friend Minho, he...nevermind, okay." 

_Deep breath._ _One_ _—_ _two_ _—_ _three._

"The thing is, I just wanted to see you. That's all. I was worried, I didn't come for…" He waved a hand around the room "...this. I promise."

By the time the last desperate word fell out of him, Hyunjin had crawled up, dodging the helping, extended hand. Idling by the wall again _(why were they always so far apart)_ he leered at him under folded lids. His fingers tugged, maybe subconsciously, at the hem of the black, shorter-than-life crop top, as if he wanted to hide the exposed skin. And _fuck, fuck, rubber duck_ , why couldn't Jisung just be allowed to hold him.

"So you couldn't just wait until tomorrow? Jesus, you can't just waltz in like you own the place and cause a scene. You could have got me sacked, and it’s not... _fair_ to me, that you’d just show up unannounced."

Okay. Hyunjin looked — and sounded — pissed as hell. But in his case, it just made him resemble a long-limbed, beaten puppy.

"Look, I’m sorry,” Jisung pleaded, “...but that guy was a bitch to you, I mean he called you a…”

At the memory of exactly what, his knuckles automatically made a fist. 

“...he was fucking rude to you. And you didn't reply to my messages. And earlier at the soup kitchen...things got so weird."

At the mention of it, some of the color drained from Hyunjin's face. Jisung wanted to close the ever-growing distance between them, just take him in his arms, tell him to be so _stubborn_ and let him help. But no, he couldn’t seem to ever get there.

"Just didn't expect to see you there," Hyunjin murmured after a while.

And that was it. No explanation as usual. And as usual Jisung was clueless and had to go run his big mouth before his inner anti-idiot-filter could activate.

"Why were you bothered though? I mean…it's okay to —”

_"Because I didn't want you to see all of this!"_

The next-to-shriek stunned them both into silence. Jisung could practically see Hyunjin’s bones shifting underneath his skin, hear his wheezing breaths shaking the small room.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," he offered, with the gentlest tone he could muster. But it wasn't enough, it never was.

“Nothing to be ashamed of, okay. You don’t get it.”

“Okay, well...do you want to explain? Talk about it? Cause I really want to help you, and...I didn’t want it to go like this.”

Hyunjin muttered something akin to _it’s fine_ under breath, his skull hitting the wall behind him as he roughly exhaled. The screaming need Jisung had to console him amplified by the second, but just as he decided to hell with it, the target was suddenly halfway out the door.

"I need a smoke."

"Okay, uh...do you want me to —”

"I don't care."

Outside the club, the wind blew relentlessly as always. Hyunjin’s bare arms and tummy, knotted with goosebumps, was a testament to that he was — as always — freezing. But right now, Jisung didn't even have a coat to offer him. Not that it mattered. He had an uncomfortable suspicion that any attempted acts of chivalry would be badly received.

While Hyunjin smoked two cigarettes into butts, Jisung loitered next to him, slowly suffering internal death and trying to think of what to say. He just wanted to whisk the poor guy out of here, but instead he'd just managed to mess up all the progress they’d made.

As he experimented with closing the gap between them in baby steps and starting with a _I really am_ —, the door flew open. A staccato of animalistic screeches made the bouncer jump near ten feet into the air, before a knot of flailing limbs and tousled hair tumbled out on the asphalt in front of them.

" _Ow_ — I think I broke my intestines..."

 _"Minho,_ get your lopsided ass out of my _face_ — “

_"Guys, what the hell?!"_

After apologetically nodding to Hyunjin, Felix and he helped haul an overly inebriated and flustered Minho to his feet. While wondering how he’d ever agreed to this, Jisung asked, with his teeth gritted, exactly how much Felix had let Minho drink.

Judging by the large beer stain on his chest, it was buckets and buckets. And after he used his hands to show how much _(this much!)_ Jisung tried to shove him into Felix’s arms so he could transport him into a cab, but before he succeeded, Minho had slapped him away and turned to Hyunjin instead.

"Oh man, I think I love strip clubs, there was this guy who...nevermind, did you guys talk?!”

Shamelessly winking at him, he let his gaze rest somewhere around crotch-level. ”Hyunjinnie...I gotta say, my dude...you look like an absolute snack in those pa —”

"MINHO?!"

 _"I mean_...you look...so damn...professional. Yeah." 

Hyunjin, ever the gentle soul, cracked an amused smile while Minho competed with Jisung over Tactless idiot of the year-award. Felix muttered apologies and made grabby hands for him, but they were all parried as he continued to drunkenly blurt out whatever came to mind.

"Not to mention you're so skilled at...moving…"

"Minho."

"... and you know, other...stuff..." 

"Minho —”

"Me and Felix almost dropped dead when you —”

" _Minho_ , would it be possible for you to just shut your face?!"

Minho came to a halt, looking laughably shocked and offended, but when he noticed the vein in Jisung’s vein being five seconds from popping, he sobered up significantly. 

"Absolutely, no problem. Face, shut. Alright you guys just. _..ow, okay…”_

He whined as Felix grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, herding him down the street and into a nearby burger restaurant for late night munchies, and Jisung could finally breathe.

"Sorry about Minho,” he muttered. “Really. He’s a bit of a drunken mess.”

"It's alright. They’re kinda entertaining." 

This earned Hyunjin a skeptical glance, but the faint curl of his lips suggested he sincerely meant it.

"Yeah, they’re...just...kinda chaotic...anyway, so when do you get off?"

"About four more hours or so. Then I’ll probably crash here."

“Oh...okay.”

 _Crash here._ That's not what Jisung wanted to hear at all, but at the same time he realized he had no right to push. And he got zilch out of him after that. His arms stayed clenched around his chest as he gave a quick nod to Jisung's pleading "stay safe, please." After that, he gradually snailed away, creeping towards the entrance and clearly indicating that Jisung had overstayed his visit.

Eventually, he had no other choice but to follow Minho and Felix into an awaiting cab. As he waited for it to take off, he witnessed the bouncer hold the door open for Hyunjin. He slipped inside, and poof. Gone.

And as Jisung occupied his bathroom later, with one hand patting Minhos back as he puked his guts out and the other holding his hibernating phone, he realized things had just changed. Again.

* * *

The flower beds were withering. 

Not due to declining infatuation, nah, but because there was nothing to nurture them with. No emote-infused messages, no lazy days spent in the park. No Hyunjin adoringly bobbing up and down in excitement over trivial things such as ice-cream or a butterfly landing on his backpack. None of it.

A dry spell raged, and it was Jisung's fault.

Last Sunday, the morning after the gruesome night at the strip joint, Jisung had texted him. He'd received _I'm alright_ back — half-assed, but it was something. Every fiber of his hungover being celebrated the tiny sign of life.

But it didn’t last. After that, it was like some flip was switched. There were replies to Jisung’s texts, initially. Not like, _enthusiastic_ ones, but replies nonetheless. But soon they dwindled to intermittent one-syllable pleasantries, only to cease altogether.

This just kept happening, and he had no idea how to stop it.

He spent so much time checking his phone. His nose was buried in it, waiting, hoping for it to ding. In the shower, at uni, at home while he lay sprawled on the couch for hours like a depressed seal. 

The world was dull and overcast as he trudged to and from classes, with a constant concern nagging at him. He had no idea what Hyunjin was doing, thinking, feeling, and no way of finding out. The changeable and unpredictable nature of their relationship made him want to stab himself in the eyeball with any sharp object — like Minho's pencil, as he tried his best to console him at uni.

"It'll be okay, little chipmunk. Give it some time. I'm sure he's fine." 

Jisung was pretty sure he was everything but fine.

The thought of just leaving him alone for good did cross his mind. He was no quitter, but maybe it was for the best. Maybe Hyunjin's silence really was telling this time, maybe he'd fucked up beyond repair and it was time to throw in the towel.

On Sunday, two weeks after the cursed strip-club-incident, he found himself seated next to Felix again, chewing his way through another bland-cardboard-tasting dinner at his parents house. By that time, his worry had peaked to astronomical levels. His phone remained grossly idle, Hyunjin probably lay dead in a ditch, and Mrs Han was nonplussed in the face of her son's sudden depressive streak.

"Jisung dear, what's the matter? You don't like your clam soup?"

Stirring it slowly, Jisung watched the bits of seafood bob up and down. Maybe if he just tried hard enough he could drown himself in it.

"Best thing I ever had. Ten out of ten happy clams."

Unsolicited speculating over why he was suddenly the poster boy of gloom followed, all while he did his best to ignore every single soul by the table. The suggestions ranged from stress over assignments to an undiagnosed ulcer to _drugs_ (the last one courtesy of Felix). Just as Jisung was about to strangle him on the spot, Grandma Han decided it was time to bite the bullet and take the young man's love life into her own hands.

"Maybe you just need a lady friend? You know, my acquaintance has a lovely granddaughter, you two would look absolutely marvellous together."

A pressing silence overtook the little congregation, only interrupted by Jisungs little sister, Mira, who happily continued slurping her soup. Finally clearing her throat, Mrs Han scooted a little closer to place her palm over Grandma Han's hand, before gently breaking the news to her. 

"Grandma...the thing is…"

There was a dramatic pause. During the entirety of it, Jisung quietly wondered when exactly his life had turned into this, and how the hell to reverse it.

"...Jisung is gay."

_"Gay?"_

It rang around the entire dining hall as Grandma Han repeated it, tasting the word like it was some foreign delicacy. Mira did the same at her end, quietly mouthing it like a fish struggling for air.

"Is that some condition that stunts your growth?" She rubbed her chin thoughtfully, before adding, "I knew there had to be some reason that he —”

"No, it's...he likes _boys_ , grandma."

"Oh. Oh, ooh, I understand."

Her squinty eyes wandered to Jisung, shining with newfound exhilaration as she enthusiastically nodded at him.

"But Jisung dear, my other friend has an absolutely wonderful nephew. He goes to medical school. Want me to introduce you? You two would look absolutely marvellous together."

Felix turned beet-red as usual. While he howled like the tortured souls of the damned into his napkin, Jisung kept apathetically poking at his clams. He didn't need a new beau anytime soon. There was only one plush-lipped cute he wanted.

"That sounds absolutely fantastic, grandma. But I'm in no need of matchmaking, so yeah. Thanks."

Grandma Han puckered her lips, busying herself with name dropping another ten possible candidates who would look _so_ _marvellous_ not to mention _tall_ next to Jisung. Meanwhile, Mira's spoon had stopped mid air. After curiously peeking at Jisung for a few seconds, she turned to Mrs Han in wide-eyed amazement.

" _Mom_...since Jisung is gay...does that mean that when he and his boyfriend get married he has to wear a wedding dress, if his boyfriend wears a suit?"

After a brief moment of bafflement, Mrs Han quickly attempted to explain things, but Felix was faster. Leaning over the table, he flashed the little girl his most saccharine smile.

"Yes Mira. That's correct. As a matter of fact, Jisung has already designed his dress. It's pink with puffy sleeves and many frills."

He darted up the second after, tactfully avoiding Jisung's murderous fingers attempting to poke him in the side. Evil laughter echoed from the hall, followed by the bathroom door slamming shut. At the end of the table, Grandma Han could be seen dreamily blinking — possibly musing at the thought of Jisung dressed in more frilly creations — while Mira excitedly rubber-balled in her chair.

"Jisung will look so pretty in his dress," she giggled as she devoured a spoonful of cake.

Lovely.

With a pained groan, Jisung assaulted his own dessert with the spoon. When he was done with it, all that remained was soggy, liquified mush. A physical display of what his insides felt like at this very moment. 

His phone remained next to him, unbuzzing. Silent, equally useless, and efficiently reminding him of what he'd lost.

* * *

"Hey. Could I just have a regular americano."

"Here you go, kid."

Meanwhile, some thirty blocks away, Hyunjin greedily accepted the tall cup of coffee after digging around his pants for cash. After paying he strolled, everywhere and anywhere — aimlessly at first, but then reluctantly making his way a few blocks away to yet another street with a questionable reputation.

Jisung casually occupied his thoughts, as he had a habit to.

An eternity since he last saw him. And every time he'd returned to the warehouse to sleep, Jisung had appeared as a hologram in his head, just begging him not to. 

But what was Hyunjin to do. He shouldn't drag him down the gutter just cause he was laying in it.

It’s not like he could deny them, the unobtrusive but very palpable feelings budding within him. Whatever they were, they effectively removed the clumps of ice from his bloodstream, melting and heating him up with never-before-experienced affection and kindness. But that was the scary part too.

He'd been seconds from answering his texts, so many times. He'd forgiven him for the strip club. Even come to regard the white-knighting as kind of sweet, the way he'd been ready to throw a punch, well, several, on his behalf.

Because even though his brain wanted to tell him differently, logically, he knew. 

Jisung didn't want anything from him. Not with ill intent at least. Not like that.

But that was the thing. Hyunjin didn't have anything but that _to_ offer. That's why he'd destroyed this, before it had a chance to develop, because what was the point. The soup kitchen and strip club-incidents had yanked him out of his heart-sprinkled haze, reminded him that he and Jisung came from separate parts of town. 

As their realities mingled and bled into each other, he'd realized. He couldn't let Jisung in on it, but neither could he seem to keep him out of it.

The deeper Jisung dug, the closer he'd get to Hyunjins gritty core and once he reached it, then what? 

He'd be gone anyway. This was better, easier.

Still, as he spent the days drifting the streets, he found himself scouting the masses for a certain dark-haired short. He found himself laying in the park when the scarce rays of sunlight allowed it, the tall grass blanketing him as he admired the cloudscape. Then, he daydreamed. About Jisung's doting hands, determined but gentle on his face, about all his quirks, his assertiveness, his vulnerability, all his angular parts, delicate parts, the appealing mix of hard and soft that he was.

About sleepy tea.

Hug in a cup. As Jisung so darn-cutely referred to it.

But that's what it was, a dream. Warm, inviting but in danger of just shattering if he entertained the idea of solidifying it.

And right now, it was cold. Just like the forecast had promised. He missed being able to sleep under the starry sky during balmy summer nights. That time would come, but at the moment he was one rainstorm away from catching the flu.

Bar-crawlers fell in and out of the establishment opposite him as he remained on the ground, clutching his folded midriff with one hand and his coffee with the other. It was still early, 5PM. Just as he hauled himself up to go looking for business, a car pulled up right in front of him. A fancy ass looking one, similar to Jisungs — but of course it couldn't be Jisung.

Not like he'd give him the time of day now, after _this_ much petulant ghosting. 

He idled by the wall, pulling out a cigarette while discreetly examining the darkened windows. Didn't look like it was about to drive off. A second later one of them was rolled down. A hand beckoned him over, in the nonverbal sex worker cue for _come hither_.

With a reluctant sigh, Hyunjin pulled Jisungs peacoat tighter around himself.

This didn’t feel tempting at all, well, it never fucking did. But he was also grossly aware of how his ever-thinning cash stash. After grinding the cigarette into a butt under his heel, he slowly slouched towards his destination.

"Evening, sir," he greeted politely as he crawled in, quite ungracefully. But the feigned, amiable smile he always wore quickly washed off as he settled into the soft leather seat.

The sir was massive. Massive and there was a steely, unamused glimmer in his half-lidded, beady eyes that gave Hyunjin the creeps. He made quick calculations. Built like a whole house...probably 200 pounds...thrice the size of him.

Yeah, no. He should bail out on this.

But before he could make that a reality, there was a click that signaled the locking of doors. With a lump growing in his throat, he straightened out again, braving a shaky glance at his company. All he was met by was a deadpan side profile, not a muscle moved as the gas was pumped and the car rolled into a vacated parking lot nearby.

As he finally spared Hyunjin a look, a whiff of garlic and something fatty exited along with the nasal, gruff tone.

"How much for head?"

Hyunjin's tummy was suddenly full of slithering eels. He swallowed. Rubbed his nose, swallowed again, and willed his vocal cords to activate.

"Uh...40k wons up front."

"Alright."

The cash was shoved into his lap. As he fumbled, swiping it away into his backpack, he heard a belt pulled out of its loops next to him, the rustling of fabric as a fly was undone. _Okay._ Okay, don't panic.

"Get to work."

It took a while for him to find the hair tie, all while impatient fingers drummed on the steering wheel. Once he had, he tied a hasty ponytail, before forcing down the coil of nausea and hunching down. Inwardly, he repeated the same mantra as always.

_Just go away...go away somewhere._

* * *

At the other end of town, Jisung was dying. Apparently his wedding plans were hot topic, but after some more hounding by smug-Felix and propositioning by Grandma Han, he was let off the hook. Another dinner was officially a wrap, and he could finally excuse himself.

What he’d do for the rest of the day, he had no clue. Mope around seemed like a strong contender.

On the way out, he squealed like a pig in surprise when his phone started wailing out of nowhere. It hadn’t for so long, and _eh_ — it was most likely just Chris, reminding him of upcoming deadlines. Or Minho wanting to whine his way into a shopping spree in Gangnam. Yeah, not even remotely tempting.

That's why he didn't even bother to check the display before slapping it to his ear and grunting a disinterested "yeah?"

The next second, he came to a screeching halt, one twist of his ankle away from a nosedive on the expensive, hand-woven rug. There was indistinct noise for a few seconds, all while his brain buzzed with one big _what the fuck._

But inside him, his appendix circled around itself, tugging. His heart pounded, threatening to break his ribs as he eventually heard the sweet, familiar voice on the other end, now utterly hysteria-tinged and saturated with tears. 

_"J-jisung? Could you come pick me up p-please?"_


	7. safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hii
> 
> Hope you guys are good. Warnings for this chap; some blood, but nothing gory or overly explicit. And language, courtesy  
> of Jisung's occasionally filthy mouth
> 
> Sorry for typos/errors, I'm sure there's some...I feel like I did nothing but proofread but  
> I'm a little blind after writing a bunch of essays sjkjgh
> 
> Ty for reading ♡ take care

During the ride across town, Jisung’s brain had time to concoct one chilling worst case scenario after the other.

Hyunjin beaten to a pulp. Hyunjin beaten to a pulp and robbed. Hyunjin beaten to a pulp and robbed and taken advantage of and forced to —

God, _fuck no_. The most horrifying option wasn’t even on the radar, it couldn’t be that, please, _please don’t let it be that…_

He had the wheel in a rigid grip, near dislocating fingers as he yanked on it and _god damn it,_ of course Sunday traffic had to be the worst _._ A raised a fist met him when he honked at some old snail of a grandpa, but he just savagely countered it by flipping him the old middle one and pumping the gas.

Hyunjin’s desperate cries still rang in his ears, like a bad case of tinnitus. It had taken multiple tries and blankets of reassurances to even help him provide his current location, with a voice that sounded filtered through oatmeal. Never ever did Jisung want to hear him that distraught again, and this was _it._

That guy was getting off the streets. Like, _yesterday._

And maybe Jisung should actually consider a career as a race car driver, because he finished a journey that should have taken 25 minutes in like...12. 

Truly, he had no idea what to expect when he scurried round the last corner, reaching the barren neighborhood with the tires wailing in protest. He was out the door in seconds, gaze flitting over red-tiled buildings and dumpsters filled to the brim with trash, but there was no sign of movement.

Until, he saw it. A little lump in the distance, stained with red. Except the lump was _Hyunjin,_ hunkering in a corner, curled into a ball. 

_“What the…”_

_Oh, shit, okay._ All the color drained from Jisung’s face, all fears manifesting in one violent torrent. He watched him heave himself up, managing a few stumbling steps towards him. The t-shirt _might_ have been white at some point, but now it looked like a canvas splattered with red paint, his coat hanging lopsidedly off his shoulder, ponytail about to come loose, and _god what the_ —

“...hell happened to you?!”

Jisung didn’t know where to look. At his left eye, swelling and sprouting with a darkening welt, or at his cracked lip, or the blood running from his nose in rivulets, or —

_“Jisung…”_

"Who the fuck did this to you?”

Jisung's state of utter stupefaction, coupled with his irate shriek, seemed to have the undesired effect — and Hyunjin sobbed into his hands, which probably just made his face hurt even more. Jisung's fingers automatically found their way around his arm, keeping him upright as he listened to him try to hack something out.

 _“I— there — was_ —”

"Hey, slow down, and calm down —”

But nothing coherent emerged, just isolated garbles of sound, tears and a whole tub's worth of snot-mixed-with-blood. Jisung could tell that each rustling breath was hurting him, and the quiver of his voice made him clench his teeth, seething. His fingers ached, ready to close around the throat of whomever was responsible for this.

A harsh cough jarred him just as he was about to peel Hyunjins hands off his face. He jerked to the side, spitting out a gob of blood-colored bile, and another series of coughs after that. By that time, Jisung was already rummaging around his car in search of the crumpled napkins he knew must be laying around somewhere. They helped wipe some of the goop off, but for some reason, Hyunjin was fighting him through it all, his amplifying cries mixing with the caterwauling from the pub nearby.

“Christ’s sake — _stay still,_ I’m trying to help you not choke on your own blood —”

 _“_ N-no- fucking look at m-e.. _.I think my nose is broken..”_

 _"Let me have a look…_ "

Hyunjin bared his teeth as he did, lightly nudging at it. It was swollen, but it appeared very much straight, buttony and intact, still.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not broken, you have a nasty shiner though and a split lip, probably swallowed a lot of your own blood. Calm down, you’re alright. Need to get you to a hospital.”

Thankfully, the whole area was still vacated, thankfully it wasn’t _raining_ on top of everything, but the guy on his hands was near hyperventilating. Jisung was worried they’d attract unneeded attention soon, but his persistent tugs on Hyunjin’s coat sleeve were all in vain.

“Hyunjin, shush...we need to leave —”

 _“No_ —”

Jisung repeated his name, multiple times, Hyunjin, Hyunjin _, Hyunjin, for fucks sake_ — but somehow he seemed to prefer to stay here and bleed out instead of moving in the preferred direction.

“Stop, come on — okay, fuck it.” 

To hell with personal space, they were mid crisis and drastic measures needed to be taken. Mindful of not bumping his head into any sore spots, Jisung slipped his hands underneath Hyunjin’s armpits before he could slither away. “Fuck it, I’m gonna hug you. Here we go.”

It was a tight package of sobs and shaking limbs that he hauled in. Shorter as he was, he only extended to around nose-height, but it gave him a good opportunity to slot his chin into the junction of Hyunjin’s neck. He looped arms around him, palming circles over the back of his coat and breathing puffs of hot air into the soft hairs on his neck.

"It might seem pretty bad right now, okay, but…"

Hyunjin trembled like a live wire in his grasp, ready to burst at the seams. Jisung steadied his voice.

“...but you'll be alright, baby. You'll be alright, I’ll help you.”

The breeze whisked parts of it down the street. As the words lingered, Hyunjin shook with one last breath, before going absolutely limp with a teary whimper. 

...okay.

That was easy. They remained stationary for a few minutes, just breathing in tandem, until Jisung reluctantly inched away. His shoulder was smeared with blood, and Hyunjin looked almost comically nonplussed where he stood, blinking at him with the one eye that wasn’t bruised and bulging.

“Wh-what did you call me?”

_What did he…_

Jisung quirked an eyebrow, thinking he'd spoken out of term. But then it clicked.

“Baby?”

When he repeated it, Hyunjin looked ready to melt into a little flustered pool. If anything else, the endearing term and the shock of hearing it seemed to distract him from his unfinished breakdown. Jisung internally patted himself on the shoulder. 

What an absolute genius he was. 

“Need you to tell me what happened," he requested, his hand anchored on Hyunjin's waist. "Can you do that?”

Hyunjin swallowed, and Jisung braced himself.

“Yeah, I...I was blowing a guy, but...I guess it wasn't that great cause I was uncomfortable...he was creeping me out and locked the doors. And I don't know why but he got pissed off all of a sudden and just flipped out, and punched me, twice...and kicked me out of the car.“

As he finished the quick retelling with another sob, he lowered his gaze to his knees. Jisung followed. They did show telltale signs of exactly that happening, leftovers of rough asphalt grazing skin, scratches peeking out of the cavities of his jeans. 

Damn him and his love for ripped pants. 

“God...I'm so sorry, that's just…but he didn’t...force himself on you, right?”

Jisung’s soul was already a black chasm, his irises shooting the deadliest of laser beams, and one little nod was in danger of making it even worse. But a monumental weight lifted off his shoulders when it didn't come. There was no nod, just a series of tentative head shakes.

“Okay...okay thank god, this is bad enough. Come on, we’re going to the hospital.”

When that statement registered, Hyunjin dug heels into the ground, suddenly looking like panic embodied again.

 _“No, no, no._ No fucking hospitals, please, _please_ Jisung, no, can we just go back to yours —”

“Hyunjin. _No_.”

"Please, you don't get it —”

Jisung's newly acquired guns, aka his biceps, worked overtime trying to half-drag, half-coax Hyunjin to his car. Turned out to be problematic to say the least. When the _no no no's_ turned much too frantic, Jisung tugged on his arm once, _hard,_ which instantly silenced him.

 _“ Listen._ I respect you and everything, but right now you don’t get to decide. You look like you’ve spent a year at Guantanamo Bay…”

As he went on, he rapidly motioned at different parts of Hyunjin’s body; his shirt, his face, his knees.

“...you might have a _concussion_ and this is _serious_ and we’re going to the hospital, so help me god. Understand?"

Hyunjin deflated like a balloon then, sulkily mumbling a _yes_. Jisung could practically hear the air fizzling out of him, and _man_ , it’s not what he wanted to achieve, but he was still relieved when he gave in and let himself be pushed into shotgun. 

“Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you... _aish…_ ” He patted Hyunjin’s knee when they were seated, seizing his cold fingers. “You’ll be alright. I’ll take care of you.”

Ten minutes later, they wobbled into the emergency room. The receptionist greeted them with a disinterested stare and a lukewarm _how may I help_ — which she didn't even finish. Instead, her skin tone paled about three shades.

"Oh dear...what happened here?" 

_"_ Uh...hello," Hyunjin croaked, sounding like a rusty car, while Jisung breathed something about _urgent_ next to him.

The receptionist's utter shock was almost enough to make Hyunjin bawl again. But on the flip side, his face-turned-bloodbath helped him get seen in record time. 

During the next hour, his nose was given a verdict of not broken, and based on his symptoms, he only had the lightest of a concussion and minor lacerations. It had looked much worse than it actually was, much due to the gallons of blood pouring out of his nose. Jisung, who insisted on chaperoning him, cooed at him from the sidelines and made sure he kept still while the nurses scrubbed him clean — but that was all the patient bothered sticking around for. 

The doctor arrived for one last checkup, and so did the question _what exactly happened?_ Jisung could practically see the cogwheels in Hyunjin’s brain, working overtime as he concocted some bullshit story not even close to the truth. But all that came out was some very avoidant muttering about getting into a fight, before he shot up like a rocket and excused himself, citing needing the bathroom.

Jisung remained in his chair, a stiff smile on his face, until the fog cleared.

_Damn it._

With a disgruntled groan, it dawned on him what that shifty-eyed look meant. It meant diversion tactic, and skedaddle.

When he caught Hyunjin, he was already outside, scurrying down the sidewalk while throwing panicked glances over his shoulder.

“Hyunjin, _wait._ ” Jisung yanked on his sleeve, forcing him to turn. “What the hell, _wait,_ what are you _doing_? Why did you leave?"

“Because they’ll call the cops —”

"Yeah they'll call the cops, the cops can try to find that bastard who did this to you —”

"Jisung, no," Hyunjin bit him off, whining when it pulled on the sore skin around his eye. "No, no cops, they'll ask me shit that...I just can't deal with right now. I'm fine anyway, you heard what they said.”

 _God,_ the stubbornness. Hyunjin made another attempt to get loose, while Jisung’s pitch climbed again.

“Fine, my ass, you’re not fine, you need multiple days of rest in a _bed_ , not in a fucking gutter where more assholes can _assault_ you —”

He had to interrupt himself by diving for Hyunjin as he backed away, nearly falling into the road. A car swooped by way too fast, angrily tooting as Jisung pushed him into safety again. 

“Trying to get yourself run over too?!”

“Sorry, no, I just, I don't know...I should just...”

Hyunjin trailed off, not even certain himself exactly what, just that…

...his instincts told him to run, now more than ever. But this was _Jisung_.

The confliction bled into his face as pure, sagging anguish, and soon he was choking up and attracting attention. Passerby’s shot him curious glances, kids stared at him, wide-eyed. This was a terrible place to have this conversation, and Jisung was growing increasingly agitated, not to mention worried.

“No. No, you shouldn't anything,” he pleaded, forcing himself to sound level. “You’ll barely be able to eat with that busted lip, you need an ice pack for your cheek, and need to make sure you don't develop more symptoms of a concussion. So please, stop being stubborn and just come home with me. _Please."_

Hyunjin’s face drooped. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe Jisung finally got through to him, but his hand finally found its way into the one extended to him. And damn it, Jisung wouldn’t let it go this time.

* * *

  
  


If Minho found this little fact out, he'd never let Jisung hear the end of it. But the truth of the matter was that he had a fairly accurate idea of Hyunjin's clothing size by now.

And it wasn’t because he'd finally gone full creeper mode and discreetly dug through his backpack, nope. Thankfully not.

The reason was...that he may or may not have spent so much time surveying every inch of him, every curve and length of his limbs, long enough to be able to just figure it out. With astounding precision, as it turned out.

Hyunjin half-dozed in the car while he wasted no time using it to his full advantage. Rushing into a mall in Gangnam, his intention was to buy him some clean t-shirts since his current one looked like a bloodied rag — but it all went a little overboard. The world's fastest shopping spree, conducted by Han Jisung, resulted in socks, sweatpants, sweaters, a new coat, mittens, and a set of pajamas with tiny watermelons on, because they reminded him of melona.

Hyunjin might rip his head off, or find it cute. Both outcomes were equally plausible.

He'd expected wild protests as he stuffed all the bags into the backseat, but there was...nothing. Not a single complaint, not a dirty look or wheezy sigh, just a sleepy-eyed murmur before he went back to napping. Actually there wasn't much of anything when Jisung escorted him upstairs. Atypically cooperative all of a sudden, he let himself be ushered into the shower to wash off all the grime, and accepted the bundle of clothes Jisung shoved into his hands afterwards.

Worrying.

But then again the guy had been through a lot, so it was probably that. But even though he looked lightyears better when he took a seat by the kitchen table, dressed in a new, soft cotton t-shirt, his mauled cheek made Jisung cringe.

How the actual hell someone could lay a hand on someone as docile and good-natured as Hyunjin, he’d never fathom. Spitting anger clawed at him again, but he chose to deal with it by simply babying him bigtime, making sure he had everything he needed to be comfortable at the moment.

"Are you feeling nauseous? Any vertigo"

"I'm alright now, just sore."

"Need another ice pack?"

"No...I'm good."

"Painkillers? I’ve got some extra strong ones —”

"I'm really sorry I've been ignoring you again."

Hyunjin's ability to look and sound like a newborn kitten even despite the fact that he was a fully grown, nearly six feet tall man, always killed Jisung. Now was no different, and his voice was so frail that it was barely there. Jisung abandoned what he was doing, sinking down next to him with a wearied sigh.

He should probably just shut it. But the one question haunting him as of late slipped him, urgent and in need of an answer.

“It’s alright, but...why did you though? I mean…I thought we were good and then…"

He crammed the rest of it down. Did he even want to know? Not really, if the unadulterated truth was that he simply…

... _didn't want him_. Nothing to do with him. Maybe he'd just called him because he had no one else.

When the actual answer came, it wasn’t any better.

“...because...I’m just scared." 

He said it with his palm pressed to his forehead, wet tendrils of bleached hair obscuring him from view. But Jisung could hear the affliction. He scooted a little closer, rubbing slow circles over his shoulder blades.

“But there’s nothing to be scared of.”

Some nodding followed, and a few pitiful sniffs. Congestion meant another potential meltdown, and Jisung wouldn’t press, not now.

“Just...don’t think about it right now. Okay? You’ve had a turd of a day. You’re safe here, no filthy asswipes can get to you.”

Hyunjin appeared from behind his hair-curtain to the sounds of cupboards being thrown open. After digging around, Jisung deposited a whole collection of different teas in front of him in a pile.

"Want a hug in a cup?"

Hyunjin nibbled on his lip, the gloom wiped off his bashed face at last.

"Yeah. Thanks, Jisung."

* * *

Withering flower beds were a thing of the past. 

A few weeks later, Jisung's Infatuation was alive and kicking again, his whole chest a botanical garden of floral abundance. The vines were growing so long that he'd have to employ Felix and Minho as gardeners soon to keep them in check, cut the bushes into pretty little shapes. All for him and Hyunjin to admire, as they merrily frolicked around it.

Colorful and magnificent, exotic plants stretched tall toward the sky, gingerly soaking up the nourishment provided for them — all things Hyunjin. Plush smile, caramel voice, crinkly eyes, small snippets of information he let Jisung in on, gradually.

The morning was off to a great start, because the new apple of his eye lounged by his kitchen table, clad in his new cute watermelon pajamas. Puffy-cheeked and laden with sleep, he wished Jisung a nice day at college, and that was the heartwarming imagery still etched on his retina as he sat through a boring ass day of lectures.

Parting from Hyunjin was ever nice, but damn. How sickeningly domestic they’d become. He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d undergone the transformation from occasionally-funny cynic to hopeless romantic, but all he could think about now were clichéd, heart-shaped things. Such as candle-lit dinners, and how they definitely should have many of them.

Very soon, if it was up to Jisung.

Seeing a blonde head of hair attached to a pair of broad shoulders move around _his_ apartment felt so right. So right and so long overdue.

Truth be told, considering his fickle nature, he had no clue how Hyunjin still occupied his guest room _,_ but he knew better than to question it. Jisung had even remembered to wake him in the middle of the night to ask him his name and age, to make sure the very minor concussion hadn't resulted in any permanent memory loss.

And Hyunjin had very charmingly and drowsily rambled, _Han Jisung._ When he realized his mistake, his cheeks and ears were already ablaze.

“I mean _uh_...Hwang Hyunjin.”

_Cute._

At college, Minho, the eternal optimist, wasn’t late to celebrate. 

"See? See!? Told you everything would turn out fine! Minho is always right, as we all know.”

Fine was maybe...a bit of a stretch.

“Yeah, except it required a damn beating for him to get in touch with me again,” Jisung pointed out, which left Minho rubbing his chin and agreeing that it _might_ not be ideal. It did worry Jisung a little. Not knowing, having no idea if Hyunjin even harbored any of the same feelings as he did, still. Fickle was the word.

And for that reason, he raced home at light’s speed later, because the fear of Hyunjin being gone was always there, like a tiny critter eating away at his gut.

"I'm home!"

At least he resisted preceding the enthusiastic greeting with _honey._ But it was damn close. As he threw his stuff on the couch, he perked his ears. Nothing for a few seconds, but then he lit up. Socked feet moved over marble floor, and the honey in question came scrambling out of the kitchen, wiping sauce-stained hands on his apron.

"Hey blue," he offered, along with a toothy smile.

The gash across his lip was healing well, and his colors were back to dusted pink and light sandy beige, except for the faint blanket of purples and blues still coating his poor cheekbone. He'd be as good as new soon, at least physically — and Jisung thrummed with a need to cajole some answers out of him, figure out what was wrong. Because despite the fact he was healing, it didn't slip past him — how the cheery smile faltered now and then, how his features turned gloomy when he thought Jisung wasn’t looking. 

A question was at the tip of his tongue, a hug, too — but at the same time, he was wary of taking any liberties.

“How was your day?”

"Good. I made you food, hope it’s not gross."

So he did. And it only helped fuel Jisung’s rose-colored dreams. The half-finished assignments lay long forgotten in his laptop as he and Hyunjin settled on the couch in front of _Inception,_ with bowls of kalguksu in their laps. But it’s not like he paid much attention to it. Hyunjin’s ever-changing expressions were a much more enticing cinematic to watch, ranging from wide-eyed astonishment to open-mouthed disbelief for the next few hours.

As the credits rolled, he was at the edge of his seat, perplexed. “Wait, wait, hold up...so was it a dream or not?”

“I have no idea.”

Hyunjin remained pouty-lipped, clearly not satisfied at all. And Jisung had lied. He actually did, because he'd seen this movie a few times, but witnessing Hyunjin as he ruminated over it was too entertaining.

“Need to rewatch it to pick up all the clues. That was too cryptic, needs further analysis.”

He whipped his phone out, his cheeks cutely blown as he scrolled it with the intent of growing wiser. Jisung studied him innocently low-key, while a tiny butterfly flapped its way through his heart.

_Kind of like you._

* * *

When Hyunjin lay in bed later, _Inception_ was on his mind. But not _just_ Inception _._ Jisung snored blissfully next door, providing the soundtrack he’d fallen asleep to for the past few days. 

But now, he couldn’t.

And the sheets in Jisung's guest room were the softest he’d ever lain in, duvet like layers if clouds stacked on top of each other, really. But for the last hour, Hyunjin had wet them with little patches of misery. Not even a month ago he was like emotional constipation itself, never shedding a tear over anything, and now it felt like he did nothing but cry. It went unnoticed so far, filtered through linen. He wanted to keep it that way.

But as particularly violent sob racked him, the door finally creaked open, casting a string of light across the darkened room. 

"Hyunjin…"

The lamp on the nightstand was flicked on, revealing him, in the process of quickly swabbing his cheeks dry.

"Sorry for waking you. You can head back to sleep, I'm good."

His apologies were countered in their usual manner, by repeated _no, no, no’s_ and _no you're not_. Always so caring and perceptive, Jisung. No matter how many times he was pushed away.

“Tell me what's wrong. Are you still thinking about it? What happened?"

Hyunjin shook his head. And nodded. And shook his head and nodded, and Jisung's fingers slipped between his with ease.

"I don't know, it's just..."

An entire novel’s worth of pages would be needed to explain. And it was late.

"...you know. Everything."

"You'll be okay," Jisung promised. And sounded so convincing when he did.

Hyunjin stared at him with tear-prickled eyes. How was he supposed to express that all he wanted was —

Jisung interfered, again, gently probing. "Do you need anything?"

_You._

But he didn’t say it. Didn't know the right language to ask for such things anymore, didn’t have the privilege of making the first move after all this shameless ghosting. He just regarded Jisung where he loitered on the edge of the bed, ready to fetch him sleepy tea, more blankets, probably anything. 

He was a full on paradox, he knew he was, a rapidly shifting magic 8-ball. _Yes_ , _no_ , _perhaps_. Every cell within him begged for this, wanted to be close, couldn’t stand the thought of Jisung leaving. And at the same time, a crushing fear of rejection, of complications, sat somewhere around his left rib, pounding away mercilessly.

Not to mention he was mangled beyond belief, still. He’d avoided mirrors, but he knew as much.

“I probably look so ugly right now," he sniffled out of the blue, covering his eyes with his palm. He wanted Jisung to look, and still he didn't. "Bet you don't want to touch me with a pitchfork after —”

"Stop, no. Stop that.”

His hand was pulled down. Jisung's melodious timbre sounded, uncharacteristically firm.

"You have to stop talking about yourself like that. Doing what you do doesn't make you dirty or broken or anything you want to imagine. It's _okay_. But people beating you up and treating you badly isn't. Understand?"

It was so scary. But Hyunjin swallowed down the coil of dread, and absorbed the sentiment, because _fuck it._

A wince left him as he dragged his pajama shirt over his head. He dropped his eyes to study the faint contours of his chest in the soft glow of the lamp, and then to Jisung's face as he blinked, lips forming a little “o”.

“Wh —”

“You really think that? You want me?”

It took a few seconds for Jisung to plunge out of his confusion, but when he did, he breathlessly confirmed it. “Do I want you, god...yes, yes, fuck yes. I always did."

His t-shirt followed shortly after, thrown to the side, and then he lowered himself down, careful as warm skin met cold. 

“Can I touch you?”

“Yeah...please.”

Tingling electricity spread through him as Jisung traced the outline of the faded scars on his ribs, the painful reminder of that day so many years ago, the day his life came to a crashing halt. In so many more ways than one.

They stayed like that a moment, just looking at each other. Just looking, feeling.

Heat flowed between them, but it was awkward, too. Fumbly and new. But the dimmed lights helped, the night, safe as it encased them, and Jisung was so sweet, so sweet to him. So sweet when his fingertips took a walk up his chest, leaving goosebumps wherever they happened to linger, soft when they forked into his hair, stroking down his neck.

As they descended, ghosting over his crotch, Hyunjin drew a trembling breath inward. He was hard, already. Almost embarrassingly so. But whatever. 

All that happened was that Jisung locked eyes with him, his lip trapped between his teeth as he tried to hold himself back. “Can I?”

Hyunjin couldn’t do much else but choke on a moan and a fractured _yes,_ and Jisung teased past the hem of his sweatpants. As he was seized, pants dragged down, he watched his own languid body turn liquid in the dark sheets, wriggled a little for pressure which he got, because Jisung’s nimble fingers wrapped around him, _him_.

For once he believed it, when Jisung's voice feverishly broke over the words _you're so pretty, so pretty._ He’d never heard it like that, not spoken with that sincere tone, no. Not like that.

Jisung hovered over him as he worked him, toned arms bracketing him, trench-deep gaze holding him securely. Hyunjin knocked his head back, keening — _ow_ — when he hit the headboard — and then, he curved up into Jisung’s body, losing himself in his high, in the slow build, faint, faint ripples lulling him. For once he wasn’t in a rush, for once he could just follow. No rough, demanding voice urging him forward.

He had no idea what he was doing with his expression, none. Maybe he didn’t care, either. 

He was vaguely aware that he’s gasping out tiny little _oh-oh_ noises; aware that light light touches dripped all over his body like lukewarm candle wax, and that he was doing nothing to reciprocate — just contorting and pushing himself up onto his elbows and —

— vaguely aware that Jisung's mouth found his neck. That he stretched it out to allow him access, that something was whispered close to his ear. 

What — no idea. It could have been _does this feel alright_? but he hoped it was obvious, okay that Jisung's fingers slid up and down, up and down, _like that,_ with Hyunjin’s own precum working as lube, _god_. _A_ nd again he didn’t care, even though Jisung had a full view of every little bruise and laceration on his body, all of him unveiled at last. Somehow, he believed him, when he claimed —

“You’re so gorgeous.”

As he noticed taut muscles cringing and into the sheets, Jisung picked up the pace, smirking as the doe-eyed stare lazily shifted to him. 

Hyunjin probably looked just like he felt. Wrecked, in the best way. Then — a careful hand curled around his thigh, the light traveling over dark, bed-mussed hair as Jisung dropped his chin, five seconds from closing his pretty mouth around him — but there was no time. 

_“Fuck_ —”

With a shudder, Hyunjin came — near-soundlessly, into Jisung’s fist in slow, slow spurts. Maybe in broad daylight, he'd felt more exposed, odd about the role reversal, of just _laying_ there — but there was something forgiving about the night, something that made him feel like maybe. Maybe he could do everything, anything with Jisung.  
  
While he collected himself, he watched his face where it rested on his tummy, his hair messy and everywhere as he nosed over his skin, one corner of his mouth curling upward.

"Good?"

The cheeky eye contact made Hyunjin drunk. He couldn't break it if he tried. 

“Yeah. Good. I got cum all over you, christ.”

Jisung chuckled, briefly leaving to get some tissue. After a while, Hyunjin hazily realized that there were tears on his lashes, making everything crystalline and blurry. Fingers brushed over the side of his ribs, trails of spit glistening on his chest. 

“You okay, baby?”

Hyunjin's gaze flicked across Jisung's flushed cheeks and round, attentive eyes, over that soft and terrible mouth. He felt swollen and needy, his lips aching. He wanted—

"Jisung....I really want to kiss you right now."

Jisung leaned forward to swipe a loose blonde strand behind his ear. “You have a busted lip. It’ll hurt.”

“I don’t care.” He really didn't. Propelling himself up, he moved closer and closer to overshadowed, wine-red lips that parted to call him _baby,_ like they were created for saying it to _him_ , like they'd never done anything else. “I don’t care, I don’t care. It’s worth it.”

And it was.


	8. bared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helllllo o/
> 
> Hope you're all doing well, I've had a week with lots on my plate. No warnings for this chapter I think...? 
> 
> Thanks for reading ♡ take care of yourselves
> 
> PS this is the absolute definition of slow burn but action waits around the corner hehe

“So wait a minute. You guys actually got _down?!”_

Jisung was absolutely positive he’d end up drowning Minho in his macchiato any second now. Firstly, this was private matters the guy stuck his exceptionally proportional nose in. Secondly, he thoroughly regretted his affirmative answer to the suggestion to “casually hang out after class”. But when he did, he hadn’t expected it to turn into a whole ass interrogation. 

Thirdly, Minho’s decibel levels were completely inappropriate for a coffee shop this time of day.

Several heads turned to judgmentally ogle them following his exclamation, causing Felix to escape into his hoodie to pretend he was an inanimate pile of fabrics someone left behind. Totally unaware of his surroundings — as usual — Minho kept bouncing up and down in his chair, while Chris squinted at him like a bemused parent.

"Could you repeat that a little louder, I think a couple people at the other side of town might have missed it."

“Yes I could.”

Jisung slurped his own macchiato while they bickered, feeling a headache slowly creeping up on him. Today had been hectic, and all he really wanted was to sprawl out on his couch in front of some whimsical mind-numbing k-drama. Preferably with Hyunjin's head in his lap, since that was another physical barrier they’d breached yesterday, much to his delight. 

But since Minho was infamous for being the city’s number one gossip girl, he’d absolutely insisted that Jisung come with them, even sinking so low as to falsely accuse him. _(You never hang out with us anymore, so busy with your new darling, pfft.)_

That was an atrocious claim, he saw them at college every day. The fact that he mostly just napped his way through those encounters was a minor detail.

At his end of the table, Chris slung one leg over the other after successfully managing to get the troublemaker to zip it. With one pinky poking out as he sipped his tea, he turned his undivided attention to Jisung, ignoring the poisonous glares being sent his way by Minho.

"I for one am very glad that Jisung has found someone he really cares about. Now you just have to behave, be respectful and nurture the relationship. Don't be creepy or clingy." 

Setting the cup down, he shot a contemplative glance to his left. "Basically just don't do anything Minho would do."

"Thank you Chris," Minho said chipperly. "But did you though? Tap that?"

"You're cringe itself,” Jisung informed him dryly. “Not like it’s any of your business, but a little. And I didn't _tap_ that, don't talk about him like that, it wasn't like that. It was…"

When calling to mind exactly what, he sank into the cushions with a deep exhale. All he'd hoped for was what. A door he’d wanted to open for so long, to slip into a little secluded existence containing only him and Hyunjin, free of any time constraints or other circumstances trying to throw sticks in their wheels.

"...soft."

A flush spread over his cheeks as he witnessed their reactions, ranging from amused to smug. Minho was the most unhinged, obviously, his smile stretching into infinity. Unless Jisung was currently traveling on marshmallow clouds and feeling a need to randomly hug everyone he encountered, he’d shot up to slap it off his face.

"You're officially whipped, Jisungie. Soft is good, way to go. Uncle Minho is proud of you."

Jisung’s cottony expression instantly fell off him, and Felix's spoon — which had been on steady course towards his mouth with a piece of cake on it — came to a sudden stop. Slowly, he turned to his table neighbor, mouth half opened in utter disgust.

"Please never refer to yourself as Uncle Minho again or I will jump off a roof."

“Okay Lixiepoo. Wouldn't want those A+ cheekbones going to waste. And Jisung, you’re a lucky bastard. That guy is something else."

“Yeah, and you keep paws off him" Jisung growled, but Minho just flapped his hand, offended by these completely uncalled for accusations.

“Of course I will, what are you thinking. I’ve got my eyes on someone else anyway. This guy one year below us...kinda looks like Hyunjin a bit.” He leaned back again, winking coyly and earning himself another thin-lipped frown from Chris. “I haven't slid in yet, but I will, at my get together at the penthouse in a few weeks. You and Hyunjinnie should come, he needs to unwind a bit.”

“Uh...I don’t know...your parties are kinda...out of control…”

“Have you told your parents about him?”

Chris's question halted Jisung mid sentence. He met the kind eyes, the grave urgency in them clearly nonverbally letting him know _this is more important than wild parties._ And it both was, and wasn't. On one hand he wanted to introduce his family to Hyunjin, on another, he petulantly wanted to keep him all to himself.

“No, but...I will. They’re just a handful. Felix knows.”

Felix gave a curt nod. "I can second this."

So he could, even though he was more than often just entertained by the fact, or adding to it. Jisung sat up straighter in his chair, reaching for his coffee again. Chugging it in hopes that it would make his headache go poof, he took his time before meeting the three pairs of eyes attentively planted on him.

“I’m just waiting for the right moment. Don’t wanna like...startle him, he’s only just gotten comfortable with me. I’m thinking of asking my dad to help him find another job. Only if he wants to, of course,” he added, hastily. “I mean I'm not forcing him but...maybe a side gig or I don’t know. I don’t want to push."

Chris's lips puckered in thoughtful interest, pleased to hear about Jisung’s respectful ways. “Did you ask him what he wants? Like what he's interested in and stuff, does he want to study something?"

“Well…" 

Jisung squirmed, wishing he knew, but the sad truth was that he didn’t. "He hasn't really told me much. But he mentioned something about interior design and he also reads a lot of books."

Chris nodded, about to follow up with some more wise words, but a little guttural noise coming from Minho shifted the attention to him instead. The worn leather chair creaked as he flung his legs onto the armrest, knocking his head back while dreamily staring into space.

"Smart and interested in interior design huh. He can come decorate my body in hickeys any day he wa —"

"MINHO!"

“Okay _,_ okay _, hyung._ Such a tough crowd around here, jesus." He heaved himself up, flipping his middle finger at the person (Chris) who’d delivered the scolding. "Getting a refill of coffee, you dumbasses want anything?"

As he sauntered off towards the counter with a soft cackle, Chris sighed and muttered something about “hopeless” and "who even gives hickeys these days, is he twelve". Jisung could do nothing but agree. He had no idea if it was smart to even expose Hyunjin to this madness. Then again…

...making out with him on the couch after a few glasses of wine, in the tallest building in town, made for a pretty cozy mental image. Very cozy indeed.

* * *

When Jisung finally rolled through the gates to the fenced off apartment complex, the streetlights had already flicked on and it was later than he’d liked. After he'd been freed from Minho’s clutches, Mrs Han had called and insisted he come over to try on a tailored suit for his sister's fancy violin recital. That process consisted of multiple pairs of fingers — belonging to his mother and the designer — poking at him, while he grumbled like an old man and overruled Grandma Han's suggestions to add more frills.

The moment he was released he headed straight to the neighborhood corner shop to raid it. Every single type of snack and drink within reach ended up in his basket, before he finally raced home. Dreams about a nice, quiet movie night in with Hyunjin loomed on the horizon, but oddly enough, they faded the closer he got to his floor. 

By the time he dragged dreary legs out of the elevator and whipped out the key, he already knew something was up. For the last five days, swinging the door to his apartment open filled him with a fluttering anticipation, because it was always a gamble. Whether or not Hyunjin still would be there, that is. 

The dice could roll anything and everything. He had the power to summon an imaginary marching band and confetti explosion every time he was, but he also had the power to ruin Jisung's day in the case that he’d taken a hike. Gamble was the word.

This time the dice landed on _yay,_ leaving temporary relief in its wake. But it morphed into gnawing concern pretty quickly. The first thing he lay eyes on as he kicked his shoes off was the fair-haired cute in question, pacing the rug in the living room with his phone pressed to his ear. Jisung's fingers curled around his button down collar as he approached, busy with loosening it so he could finally breathe, but his tentative greeting went unnoticed.

With growing unease, he watched Hyunjin's hunched, t-shirt covered back as he continued quarrelling in hushed tones with the person at the other end. It sounded alarming to say the least.

“Yeah...no I get it, sure...sure, I understand that…yeah, I said I’ll _be_ there...”

Jisung let the shopping bag sink to the floor with a soft thump, while his intestines tied a little anxious knot in his gut. With arms folded, he lingered on the spot, listening in on some more worrying narrative, until Hyunjin finally turned. Faint shadows coated his eyes, as if he’d been woken mid nap, and his hair — clotted and sticking up in tufts — strengthened that same theory.

“No, I’m not ungrateful, just...yeah, yes. Jesus. I’ll fucking be there. Bye.”

After hanging up, he just stared blankly at the display a few seconds. Jisung’s questioning eyes beckoned him, along with a _hrrm?_ and he met them, but only briefly before he swept past him towards the hallway.

“I have to go to work. Have you seen my Doc Martens?"

Jisung remained rooted on the spot, blinking three hundred miles per second. Work? What?

When he shook himself out of it, dull thuds reached him, footwear being carelessly thrown off the rack. He managed a grand total of _um_ as Hyunjin set off again after locating his boots. In the guest room, he emptied all the contents of his backpack on the bed, while Jisung watched from the doorway, repeating his name three times before he was finally spared a glance. 

“Work, Hyunjin? Is the strip club even open on Thursdays?”

Hyunjin just returned to what he was doing, totally indifferent to Jisung’s existence. Once he located what he’d been looking for — a stick concealer and a short stump of an eyeliner — he whipped out a pocket-sized mirror and sank down on the edge of the bed.

“It is, I just don’t usually work on Thursdays.” 

He proceeded to smear concealer all over his discolored cheekbone, while Jisung shifted on his feet, wondering if he was for real right now. Seemed like it, which is why couldn’t keep himself from sounding a bit condescending

“Well...you shouldn't now either because you're still recovering from that _beating_ you were put through.”

“Jisung — _ow, fuck —"_

_“Careful —"_

He’d just stabbed himself in the eye with the liner. But as the rambled response poured out of him, he continued assaulting his eyes with it, drawing sloppily and smudging it with his finger.

“My boss offered me more shifts last week and I accepted, but I forgot I was working tonight. Stripping and giving blow jobs inside a club is much safer than out on the street, so...I have to go.”

Jisung regarded him for a moment, mentally flipping through his Hyunjin knowledge-bank for the best way to reason with him. The kid gloves would have to come on.

“Yeah, okay. I see how that’s logical, but your ribs and head took a pummeling, so I think it might be best if you take a few more days off. Please?”

“I’m fine. I’m already late, my shift started like half an hour ago.”

“The nurses said—"

“ _Jisung_.” The eyeliner was chucked aside, and smoky, slightly swollen eyes snapped up, much more piercing than Jisung was used to. “I’m really thankful for everything you've done for me, but it’s not your decision what I do.”

Christ. As Jisung inwardly groaned at the perpetual stubbornness, his irritation quickly boiled over.

“Well maybe it should be, since all your own decisions are shit?”

The moment he saw every feature on Hyunjin’s face twist in agony, he regretted it. _Fuck_ , what a pompous idiot he was. He extended a reconcillitary hand, but it was batted away.

“Damn it, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

His stuttered apology was bluntly ignored. Jisung was about to resort to pleading, but his jaw closed when Hyunjin started cringing himself out of his sweatpants and t-shirt, his movements choppy and uncoordinated. 

Should he even be here to witness this? Okay, he’d seen the guy naked just a few days ago, but this...felt like an invasion of privacy when he was clearly distressed. But there was no request for him to leave, just tight-lipped determination as he did his best to shimmy into a pair of leather pants. He huffed, jumping up and down to work them over his calves, before grabbing another impossibly short black crop top off the bed.

Jisung’s gaze flitted over various parts of his body as they were revealed and concealed — over the cutouts on the side of his pants, the scars on his chest before they were covered by fabric. God, he was so pretty — but this unexpectedly tense situation wasn’t. He appeared out of place, too, all black, angular and clashing against the soft cream backdrop, the fluorescent light emphasizing his coal-framed eyes.

This was slowly spiraling out of control. While Hyunjin jerkily closed a choker around his neck with his gaze averted, Jisung tried coaxing once more, his tone softer than a kitten’s fur.

“Hyunjin...please listen to me. I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but spinning on a pole is a really bad idea when you’re still kinda concussed. Get me?”

“I’m broke, need the money. Don’t care.”

“Yeah, I’ve started to realize that now,” Jisung muttered bitterly. “But damn it, you're just being reckless. You need a few more days _rest_ —"

His attempt at reasoning was cut short again. Hyunjin looked two seconds away from tossing him out the window at this point, eyes blazing with spitting hellfire Jisung wasn’t used to being the receiver of.

“Listen, my boss will be pissed if I don’t get my ass there asap, so can we just _drop_ this?!”

The reverb of the rough exclamation slowly died out, and regret pooled into his eyes instantly. Jisung’s eyes narrowed into the thinnest of slits. He closed the short distance between them, forcing a very bothered-looking Hyunjin down on the edge of the bed again by the mere power of his stare. 

“Sorry, can we just —"

“No.” Now it was Jisung’s turn to act like an impenetrable wall, because this just sounded too wrong to be ignored. “No we can’t, hold up a second. Why would your boss be pissed? Surely your boss understands if his employee is unfit for work?”

Hyunjin pretended not to hear him, fingers nervously raking through his hair, which only tangled it into more of a mess. His attempt to get up was parried, by Jisung’s gentle hand pushing him down again.

“That was your boss you talked to on the phone earlier right? What’s the deal with that guy exactly?”

“He's...uh...”

Jisung ignored the stumbled words, ready to disregard any bullshit he was about to concoct as a diversion tactic. His brain wrestled with the information, with one goal in mind, to dissect this — whatever it was — until the details resurfaced, as vividly as the day he’d learnt them.

“Wait a second. Wait, wait, wait.” 

Wide, slightly glossy eyes peered up at him as he recalled their first encounter. It wasn’t that hard. Imagery of Hyunjin hissing quietly when climbing into the elevator and flinching at the lightest touch came to mind, and so did the dejected statements, playing in his head on a constant echoing loop since then.

“You said you sometimes sleep at the strip club, but that you don’t like to, for whatever reason.”

Hyunjin swallowed down a ball of tinder-dry paper, all the defiance gone from his face. Jisung waited for him to explain, but there was nothing. Just hand-wringing and sour mumbling, while the atmosphere grew tenser.

“Your memory is sharp.” 

“Occasionally. And when I brought you home that first time you were stiff and said you’d worked a double shift at the club the previous night.”

He kept pressing, while the target squirmed like a worm. Maybe he shouldn’t, but the unwillingness to let him in on basically anything was wearing on him, and now it just all released in a gradually amplifying stream.

“What’s up with this?”

When nothing but silence met him, his patience dwindled. It was so obvious he was sitting on some important intel and _god damn it,_ their relationship was developing into...something. The garden was in full extravagant bloom and Jisung deserved to know.

“Seriously, at some point you just have to —”

“He paid me to sleep with him.” 

Hyunjin’s head tilted upward as he basically spat it out, a wince leaving him as the aftermath hit. The pair of them stared at each other, quietly. Almost like they’d never seen each other before, while the air fizzled out of Jisung in slow, slow spurts. 

“He —"

“Yeah. Judging me yet?” Hyunjin’s voice cracked like a preteens as he forced all of it out. “He gave me a fat wad of cash in exchange for fucking me. You wanted the truth, so, you got it.”

The truth slashed Jisung in half like a sizzling knife, rendering his body numb. But he regained his composure quickly, and he didn’t. Judge, that is. He hadn’t expected this, because Mr Strip Club had looked close to forty, despite being semi-handsome — but he didn’t.

“No, not judging. Just worried. Cause you were _limping_ after he was done with you.”

Hyunjin’s hands fell to his sides as he deflated with a sigh. “I’m okay. Not made of glass.”

Jisung was aware of that. Hell, he was probably the one who was. This guy was hardened by many years spent sleeping on gritty asphalt, while he sat through five course meals and bathed in luxury. But it tore him apart — imagining someone else's hands on him, and having no idea if they treated him well.

"I know,” he admitted. “But...it just sounds like a very inappropriate employee and employer relationship. And that doesn't explain why he'd be pissed just cause you don't show up for work once.”

“It was a one off,” Hyunjin murmured under breath, ignoring the rest of the question. Crawling into standing, he gathered his backpack and pulled the new peacoat on — dark green, so complimentary against his pale complexion — while continuing the needless justifications. “I couldn't turn down that amount of money, and I know it doesn’t make sense to you, Jisung. I know you probably think I'm gross, but it's complicated and there’s stuff you just don’t know.”

“I don't think you're gross, _stop that_ ,” Jisung countered, the last chunk escaping rougher than he’d intended. “But that’s why I want you to tell me. Please.”

Hyunjin’s head remained bowed as he slung the backpack over his shoulder. “I’m sorry for disappointing you. I'm sorry. I have to go.”

“You didn't, just don’t _go_ —"

But he was already gone. Making a beeline past Jisung after one last pitchy _I’m sorry,_ leaving him with unasked questions on his tongue. Something itched behind his eyes — maybe tears, how uncharacteristic. The front door closed, and his eyes shifted to the bed. To the few scattered items of clothing and makeup, next to the neatly folded watermelon pajama set on the pillow.

Things just shattered. Over and over again.

 _Come back_.

* * *

Maybe it was a bad idea, going to work with a pounding head and scarred knees that stung every time the beer-stained floor of the club dug into them. Okay, logically, Hyunjin knew it was. And by the end of his shift, he was positive that he’d benefited from listening to Jisung, but at that point it was already too late.

The time showed 2:01 AM as he wobbled into the dressing room, bone-tired and with the words _good boy_ basically plastered to his forehead next to the sheen of sweat. They'd left him slightly nauseous when they were uttered, just a few minutes prior by his last customer as he finished in his mouth. He wasn't supposed to, but Hyunjin had been too tired to cause a scene.

 _Good boy._ Calling him cringy names should cost extra, no matter how many times Mr Park repeated; _it's just words, Hyunjin...just humor them._

But he wasn't a good boy. Not to that guy at least. Still, it beat some of the other, very questionable terms of endearment he’d been called in the heat of the moment.

The confrontation from earlier worsened the nausea now that he had nothing to distract himself with anymore. While a toothbrush whisked around his mouth at a frenetic pace, his own, venomous voice rang in his ears, atypically coarse. Cold and snappy, and for what reason? 

Because Jisung worried about him.

 _Jisung_ , who'd done everything and more for him. He wasn't used to being questioned, which is what made him force the protective walls up and flash the canines. But if he could rewind and undo it all, he would. That, and so many other things.

He quickly worked the crop top off himself, with the intention of getting out of here as soon as possible. But where would he go? 

Back to Jisung's? He wasn’t even sure if he was welcome anymore. In his pants pocket, the phone burnt him — he didn't dare check it. Maybe it was full of scathing messages, aggressive one liners informing him that he didn’t have to bother anymore. Maybe he'd arrive at Jisung's place only to find the rest of his stuff outside in a haphazard pile. 

_Always have to fuck everything up._

A sob erupted from the depths of his lungs, but a hand landing heavily on his shoulder chopped it in half. As he swung around, the vertigo blurred his vision for a second, until he could focus on a pair of half-lidded, coal-black eyes.

"Hyunjin."

"Uh...hey…"

He quickly sidestepped, feeling Mr Park paying attention to every flex of his muscles as he changed into a sweatshirt, exhaling once he was covered again.

"Nice work tonight,” Mr Park praised, thin lips curling upward. “Guess you don't want to stay over?"

"I'm good," Hyunjin croaked as politely as he could, eyes glued to the floor and the spotless leather shoes occupying it. Even though they were almost the same height, he always involuntarily seemed to cower in his presence instead of standing up straight. 

“Alright, alright...suit yourself. Where do you sleep nowadays?”

“At...a shelter." 

He hoped it sounded believable. He'd fight tooth and nail to keep Jisung off this slimy guy’s radar. Fortunately, Mr Park didn't seem to find anything fishy about the stiff answer, one finger trailing his stubble as he shrugged in defeat.

“Hm. You know...you’d be so much more comfortable sleeping here. My door is always open and the upper floor is huge. But you always have to be so damn stubborn, don't you?”

An uninvited finger ghosted over his cheek. But he didn't dare move away, yet. 

“I’m fine, thank you though," he croaked. Mr Park looked visibly miffed at this, letting out a disgruntled sigh — but despite his questionable reputation, he wasn't one to push it.

“Suit yourself.”

The finger retracted, eyes roaming over Hyunjin with a barely concealed hunger one last time before he wiped some imaginary dust off his purple silk sleeve. 

"Oh, ah...before I leave."

A ring-clad palm was extended, and Hyunjin shrank even more. 

With his teeth clenched, he reluctantly fished out this night’s tips, handing it over after separating half of it. A couple of his co-workers eyed him sympathetically from the sidelines, aware of his predicament, while Mr Park swiftly swiped the pile of notes away. The stinging smell of aftershave hit as he leaned closer, lowering his voice so no one else could overhear them.

"I'm sorry kid...I don't like to do this. But just keep up the good work, and that pesky debt will be paid in no time."

Hyunjin remained deadpan as Mr Park made his exit after one last saccharine smile. As soon as he was alone, he unleashed his frustration on the locker door, slamming it shut with as much force as he could conjure. _Fucking ass._ But the worst part was that he’d brought all of this on himself.

His phone dinged, begging for his attention. Hauling it out erased the terse wrinkles from his face, replacing them with tear-ridden melancholy.

 **Jisung:** I'm outside. Please come home with me. [2:18 PM]

* * *

When Hyunjin emerged, with the peacoat wrapped tightly around him to shield him from the chill of the night, Jisung was casually leaning against the car door. And thank god. His entire body rustled as he saw him, with both relief and a need to mend everything as fast as possible. As he approached with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, Jisung welcomed him with the most comforting of smiles.

“Hey, baby."

“Hey,” Hyunjin managed weakly, ears heating up in abashment as usual, even though it was too dark to see. "How did you even know when I finished? 

Jisung shrugged nonchalantly. His entire evening had been — to put it plainly — close to a full on medieval punishment. He’d made some attempts at being productive and finishing assignments, but all of them were unsuccessful, obviously. The ball of anxiety had grown steadily, and that’s why he’d been sitting inside his car for a good hour, just rolling his thumbs and waiting for Hyunjin to finish. 

But it's not like he was about to reveal that little detail, because the guy would just guilt trip himself. 

“Just figured. Been waiting a little while."

When he saw the foreseen guilt mirror on Hyunjin's face, he dismissed it quickly. "Don't worry. Not for long, and my car is nicely heated. I'm sorry about earlier, I said some things I really didn't mean. How are you, how's your head?"

Stripper ways were still a great big mystery to him, and he had absolutely no clue how Hyunjin usually felt after a shift. It looked like an intense workout after all, all that spinning and flipping, which fit this picture. The answer, muffled by his scarf, confirmed it.

"I'm...a little sore. My body feels a bit battered, I should have listened to you."

A regretful pout bided its time on his lips. So he should have, but it's not like Jisung would hold it against him, he was troubled as it was. As he inched closer, ready to reassure him, a tiny sob jarred him, slipping out of the Hyunjin-scarf-bundle.

"I was worried you maybe wouldn’t want me to come back after..." 

His voice broke near the end, and Jisung instantly crept up on him, gathering his cheeks into his palms just as he choked out _, I'm sorry._ The streetlight cast a spooky glow over them, little wet puffs of air exiting Jisung's mouth as he cooed at him.

“How do I make you understand? I want you, I want to know everything about you. If you’d just let me.”

Hyunjin leaned into his touch, fingers tentatively resting on his hips while cars swooshed past them. He was so close. Jisung could see the flickering light reflected in his eyes, and the remnants of makeup, dissolved by sweat and slowly making its way down his cheekbone over the slightly bluish-tinted skin.

"I will."

"That's all I want,” Jisung said sincerely, seizing his hand. “Let's go."

* * *

Back at home, he helped Hyunjin out of his boots, and watched — with rising concern — as he dragged limbs into the bathroom with more effort than it should demand.

Definitely concerning. And Jisung wanted to alleviate whatever was hurting. He was also next to bursting with a desire to bring up some topics from earlier, but a tiny, sober voice told him to choose his battles. So he opted for just indulging his role as caretaker and prepare everything he needed while he busied himself in the bathroom. 

Even though a small — or kind of monumentally huge — part of him wanted to throw out the suggestion of joining him. But it would have to wait.

When he appeared again, wrapped in the midnight blue bathrobe purchased especially for him, Jisung instantly leapt on him with a blanket and pushed him onto the couch. An initial chuckled protest left him as Jisung hovered over him, asking if he was warm, and if he needed painkillers, and shoved an ice tea and a bag of banana kicks into his hands. But soon enough he was leaning on his shoulder, contently chewing and sipping his drink while promising he wasn’t dying.

The late hour caressed them like a long lost lover as they snuggled up to each other, the steady rush of blood erasing any lingering memories of harsh words. And as Hyunjin clambered further into Jisung’s lap — which he gladly allowed, even though he was taller and therefore a bit tricky to accommodate — freshly washed, warm lips eagerly brushed over his. 

And Jisung kissed the boy, pouring everything he wanted to say into it. Apologies, reassurances, promises. He kissed him, pulled him close with gentle intent, slowly but firmly. One hand curled around the nape of his neck, the other trailing down his exposed thigh and making Hyunjin exhale heavily into his mouth, his body melting from the touch.

It worked pretty nicely to soothe his aching joints. When they separated, he was breathless and close to dozing off.

"You're too nice to me, I don't deserve it."

"Nah,” Jisung mused, his fingers sneaking around his waist instead, tugging until his head was resting on his chest. “You deserve the world."

They remained in comfortable silence, until a curious question pulled Hyunjin out of his comatose state.

"What do you think about when you dance?"

"Inception."

"Oh, really?"

"No," Hyunjin grinned, popping another banana kick into his mouth. Jisung vacantly forked a hand through his dampened hair, gently nudging him to continue. 

"I think...sometimes about nothing. Sometimes I think that it's fun...like being above everyone, they can look, but not touch…"

 _Sometimes I'm thinking about you,_ is what he was about to say. But didn't.

"But mostly just...about not falling on my ass," he ended it with a light snort. "What are you thinking about in class?"

"That I'm bored and that Minho is yapping in my ear and that I want to go home to you."

A weight dropped from his shoulders when Hyunjin craned his neck, his toothy smile dissolving the last snippets of tension. Jisung’s fingers wandered, slipping into Hyunjin’s where they rested on his tummy, before he presented the outrageous idea suggested to him earlier today.

"Do you want to go to a party-thing-get together-whatever next weekend? Minho is throwing it and he really wants you to go."

In the case of a no, Jisung would understand completely. It was a different crowd, two worlds colliding whenever Hyunjin came anywhere near them, and frankly he wasn't entirely sure how well a lavish penthouse would sit with him. That, or the fact that booze and sometimes sloppily rolled blunts were present during Minhos parties. 

But his reaction, an interested glint playing in his eyes as he squinted upwards again, suggested mild interest, at least.

"Maybe. Haven't been to one in some time."

With that, he quieted, burrowing further only to finally settle his head in the nearest lap instead. Within a minute, he was fast asleep, and Jisung’s heart flailed all over the place.

He petted his hair, careful not to wake him again. Nights had become a time for pondering, and now, thoughts about the day's revelations and pretty much everything scurried in and out of his mind intermittently. 

Han Jisung had never been one to dwell on life too much. He just stalked the path already paved for him —" starting with education and ending in a prestigious job, loving partner, beautiful home, proud parents, meaningful legacy, this, that and the other. His life was an arrow pointing steadily upwards, with no room for detours.

But lately he'd started viewing the world differently. It was subtle at first, the way his gaze often followed Hyunjin's as it landed on details he just never cared about. A butterfly fluttering past in the park, the budding leaves on the trees and how they changed daily as summer approached.

Small things.

Jisung paid attention, slowed down. And now _he,_ an indifferent and previously restless soul, was content with sitting in his dimmed living room, with the TV off and nothing but leveled breaths and the occasional susurrating surrounding him. Opposite him, fleeting shafts of orange illuminated the wall as a car rushed past outside, and below him, the only source of light in the room — a lamp on a coffee table next to them — colored Hyunjin's hair a warmer shade of blonde. 

He had zero interest in this apartment when it was bought for him. It was a place for eating and sleeping, furnished entirely according to his mother's tastes, but now it held newfound character. Now Hyunjin’s bare feet moved over the marble floors, his shrill laughter bounced off the high ceiling, filling the vast space with movement and noise. The walls were organs, Hyunjin was the heart, pumping life into them — and Jisung needed him to stay. He wanted him to help choose new pillows for the couches, tell him to use it as a playground for his imagination. To infuse it with even more of himself, all of him.

Even if Jisung would be given nothing but this room, this moment, and the sleeping boy in his arms for the rest of his life...he'd be happy with it.

It felt like having a cat in his lap — a skittish creature finally bestowing its affection on him. And obviously he didn't move. Not even when his knees went numb and his shoulders started protesting in discomfort, not even then. 

He stayed, already knowing he wouldn’t be going to class tomorrow when the hour hand on the clock closed in on 4am, and already knowing that cooking Hyunjin breakfast in the crisp morning sun was worth skipping for. As he swept a strand of blonde behind his ear, fingers tracing his sculpted jawline, he mumbled; 

_You’re safe here_.

Hopefully it would reach all the way into his dreams.


	9. sky-high

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi o/
> 
> I have no idea how this chapter actually happened, because I've had the crappiest two weeks. But it did. And I really hope you like it.  
> No warnings except buckets of fluff and angst, and some brief mentions of illegal substances. There's a couple cameos, hehe. 
> 
> ♡ take care of yourselves till next time  
> ♡
> 
> EDIT; next chapter might be a few days late because of my exams

It wasn't often brilliant ideas struck Han Jisung like lightning from a clear sky, but when they did, they nearly split him in half. That was the case today. It was an overcast afternoon, saturated with torrential rain, and also the Friday that he and his almost-boyfriend were due to attend a social gathering. _Together,_ for the very first time.

They were like, _this_ close to exclusive. All it required was that pesky verbalization. Hyunjin had accepted his invitation to join the secret garden, and now he curled around him like a vine, tighter and tighter with each passing day. Jisung had defeated all evil forces wanting to split them apart, overthrown every obstacle, stubbornly and with uncharacteristic, unfaltering determination.

It was almost laughable at this point, to remember that there'd actually been a time when Hyunjin flinched to the other side of the room when he so much as looked at him. How he'd been able to lure him out of his shell, he had no idea. But it was happening.

He was in love. With the warmest, sweetest and most enigmatic person he'd ever met and it was almost overwhelming at times. He felt like a bear stepping out of hibernation, greedily soaking up the first whiff of spring. Except spring was a person, _his_ person, and Jisung never wanted the seasons to change.

And alas, he’d been slumped over the table in his usual manner, shutting out Minho’s and Chris’s bickering over his head while the economics class snailed towards its end. He was busy, with all things Hyunjin. Small, dreamy sighs exited him in regular intervals, coloring the surrounding air fuchsia as he pictured him. Hopefully he was just relaxing on the couch, occupied with the frayed paperback he’d seen him reading lately.

 _They both die at the end._ Pretty morbid of a title if he may say so, but Hyunjin had assured it wasn't. Jisung would never in a million years let that be their fate, though. They wouldn't die. They'd live, they'd dance and admire the blossoming flower beds in their garden forever, if he had any say in it.

But thinking about Hyunjin always brought with it a certain melancholy, too. The aching knowledge of what he'd been through, things that Jisung just couldn’t even comprehend. While he watched a collection of fluffy clouds roll past outside, his thoughts wandered to his late mother and sister — and it was at that moment he had a striking epiphany.

He shot straight up in his chair, causing Minho to squint at him in surprise.

"God I'm dumb."

"Well I wouldn't say that, I mean you have your less intelligent moments, but…"

But Jisung didn't stick around to find out what creative descriptions he had in store for him. Thirty minutes later he rushed into one of the massive glass-covered skyscrapers in downtown Gangnam, while wondering why he hadn’t realized it was an absolute goldmine before. 

Mr Han, renowned businessman, loving father and devoted husband, was actually at the office today. Jisung heard the thundering baritone long before he actually spotted him, standing right in the middle of rows and rows of desks with multiple phones pressed to his ear as usual.

"...and can you cancel the meeting this afternoon, I don't think we have time for...Jisung? What are you doing here?"

"Hey dad, uh..."

Mr Han looked puzzled to say the least following his son's sudden appearance. Since it was Friday, it was an anomaly to see him anywhere near an office. If he knew him correctly, which he did, he’d expect him to be halfway through a bottle of bacardi at one of the clubs downtown at this time of day — but Jisung just grinned sheepishly. One makeshift story about a project needing instant research later, and Mr Han nodded in slightly befuddled agreement.

"Han Jisung voluntarily doing assignments on a Friday afternoon. That’s a first, but alright. Knock yourself out.”

"Can I print stuff too?"

"Yes, yes, do what you need. Just don't break anything."

After he’d been dismissed by a flap of his father’s hand, Jisung sank down in front of a vacated computer, pleased about how smoothly that went. He might be a bit slow at times, but no one could deny it. He was a pure and utter genius.

* * *

Hyunjin had read the same sentence about five times over when he finally gave up, throwing the book without paying much attention to where it landed. He couldn’t focus, not today. Inching his knees to the side revealed the clock on the opposite wall, a humongous thing letting him know Jisung was _late_. Not that it was any of his business per se. And it’s not like he kept track of the time religiously, but…

...okay, that’s exactly what he did. It was already six in the evening and he should have finished college by now. And it would be great, really, if he could ride in like the cavalry any time now, to save Hyunjin from his racing nerves.

Parties hadn't been a thing for in, well...long. At least not these kinds of parties, which hadn't been a thing for him in...ever. He was used to a different kind of vibe, a much grittier one. Murky warehouses in the outskirts of town, featuring blasting rave music, a persistent itch in his nose, and bad decisions. He mostly wanted to forget. Both the group of individuals he'd called his friends back then, and the physical and mental imprints that time of his life left him with.

Because he wasn't one of them anymore. But neither did he feel like he resonated with this new group of ambitious, starry-eyed rich kids he was about to be introduced to. He felt like an alien, forever doomed to wander the twilight zone between two worlds when he didn’t fit into either one of them.

It would have been easier to just stay here, in the confines of the place that quickly turned into his safe haven. But he’d promised himself. To leave his comfort zone for once.

 **Hyunjin:** Hey, um...I don't wanna stress you but when will you be home? [6:18 PM]

Call him overly attached, but he kinda needed him here, to kiss him better before the anxiety made his organs combust. His mind was laid to rest just a few moments later, though, after the whiny text was met with near-immediate, merciful beeping. 

**Jisung** : I'm literally walking up the stairs now baby ;) [6:19 PM]

The reply achieved two things. One, made the butterflies in his chest burst out of their cage. Two, nearly made him trip over the rug on his way to the hall to greet him, since he couldn't get there fast enough.

"Hey!"

"Hey there."

Jisung wore a cryptic smile as he kicked his shoes off. Hyunjin bounced next to him all the way to the kitchen, impatient while he answered all the routine questions. If his day had been nice, if he was still experiencing headaches (a stern _no_ to that one), if he was sore from work yesterday, and so forth.

After that was taken care of, Jisung grabbed his bag again, digging around it a while with a concentrated face. "Sorry I took so long, but I have something for you. I hope you like it…”

Hyunjin was already mid-protest, because he’d already been spoilt to death and he couldn’t _possibly_ — but he was silenced as the item was handed to him. It was A3-sized, as close to 3D a piece of paper could come, with a smooth, shiny finish. It was…

...a photo. Showing three individuals, all of them carved out of the same rock, identical, plush-lipped smiles on their faces. The walls almost seemed to crumple into tissue paper around him as he was whisked backwards in time, right into a vibrant dream. His index finger trailed the contours of the black locks draped around his mothers face where she stood, with arms around him and his sister. 

When he finally looked up, his eyes were filled with adoration, unspoken words of deep gratitude radiating off every delicate feature.

"Where...where did you get this?"

"My dad owns multiple newspapers in the city, and well...I had a chance to dig around their database a bit. I found that."

Jisung waited, attentively gauging his reaction. But he was calmed pretty quickly, since Hyunjin couldn’t seem to stop smiling and fingering at the picture, caught in absolute awe. Genius was the word.

"Do you like it? You guys look so nice in the picture...it's from your sisters violin recital way back right? Funnily enough, my sister plays the violin too."

"Yeah, yeah I remember it...there was a journalist there to interview her, she did so well...she played the solo…"

It was bittersweet. Like finding a long lost treasure, an untarnished moment years before the unimaginable happened. He already knew he'd keep it safe forever, never allow it to slip into any sewers.

"...do I like it, I mean...I literally don't know what to say."

Gentle fingers approached, nudging at his now very, very faintly blue-tinted cheekbone. Because of course he couldn't prevent the outpouring. Not when the past played before him in a rapid, beautiful montage, blurring his vision as a tear fell, right down onto the memory in his hands.

 _"Sorry,_ I'm being stupid, I'm sorry…"

Jisung carefully took the photo from him and set it on the table. Lips pressed to his cheekbone, palms working over his back, his voice flowing all around Hyunjin in a gentle stream.

"Nah, no. You're not. You're not, never say that."

Hyunjin had to assure him, that it was the good kind of emotional outburst. Happy tears, the only kind Jisung wanted him to cry, and never anything but that. Once he'd successfully placated him, they could proceed to dinner. Eventually they ended up in Hyunjin's guest room, with the intention of choosing his outfit for the night.

But in there, things got a little heated. Maybe it was because of the hastily downed glasses of sparkling rosé, or because Hyunjin was constantly longing for his touch — soft, rough, it didn't really matter. But whatever the reason, he found himself bracketed between the wall and him in no time, a thigh wedged between his willingly parted legs. 

How exactly it happened he wasn't entirely sure, just that his blood pumped so fast he was about to burst and that their clothes lay in a heap on the floor. A tingling heat racked him, with an intensity he’d never felt before, never. Not with anyone else. And he was pretty sure it wasn’t even exclusively due to the alcohol, either. 

His shoulder blades hit the wall as Jisung’s fingers slid down his chest, and he heard himself whimper with soft, soft and terribly needy sounds. Not an inch of him was left untouched or unappreciated, dark, dazed eyes sweeping over him — over the taper of his waist, the thickness of his thighs, over every single white scar criss-crossing his chest. Fully illuminated and on display, but he didn’t even care. Not when Jisung looked at him like _that._

“God, you’re just…beautiful.”

He was coaxed around, Jisung’s torso slotted into his back, his tongue skimming over his neck and shoulders, just barely reaching. Hyunjin’s cheek pressed flush against the wall, wet moans dampening the wallpaper. He shivered when Jisung snaked one hand to his front, the other one leaving goosebumps behind as it ghosted over the curve of his ass.

Then, Hyunjin wanted nothing more than for Jisung to curl his slender fingers inside him, play him like an accordion and whisper _baby_ in his ear — but he was too scared to suggest it. And he knew, that they wouldn't move forward unless he initiated it. His pulse raced somewhere beyond reach when a boner — thick and persistent — dug into the fold where his ass met his thigh. But a second later, the blessed moment was gone like poof.

"Sorry, sorry...I didn’t mean to ravage you.”

Hyunjin swung around again, every part of him protesting the loss of contact. Jisung stepped back with a devilish grin, his chin cheekily tilted. And this wasn't one bit of amusing.

"What, so you’re just gonna work me up and leave me here?”

"Yup."

"Wow, you're cruel." He sulked, dropping his gaze to his neglected dick. But it’s not like Jisung was even remotely serious. He snuck up to him again, met with a whine as warm fingers gripped a hold of him.

"As if I'd ever be able to do that."

He was seized by the hand, pushed down on the bed as Jisung crawled over him, citing; _need you comfortable._ And what a welcome change to hard floors it was — laying there and craning his head to be able to see. Him, Jisung, as he nosed down his abdomen, stuck his tongue out, and finally; closed spit-glistening lips around him.

Hyunjin watched, and felt things more intensely than usual — the tight, wet heat of his pretty mouth and the downward tilt of his eyelashes and the sleek, shower-damp curls brushing over his tummy. When he eventually choked out a quick warning _(fuck, I’m coming),_ Jisung didn’t bat an eyelid. After he was done, he creeped up to him again, lazily kissing his neck and slipping strong arms around his perspiring ribcage.

The room spun a little. Hyunjin was beat and ready for sleep, but a boner still poked his thigh.

“I won’t leave you hanging,” he insisted, scrambling into sitting and ignoring Jisung’s reassurances. That it was _okay_ , that he didn’t have to, really he didn't. But screw _have to,_ he wanted to. Today, tomorrow, and basically every day for the rest of his life.

* * *

When the taxi finally pulled up outside of Minho’s building in Mapo, Jisung was both comfortably tingly and caught in a post-orgasm daze. And truly, he’d been fine with just spending the rest of the evening cuddling in front of Netflix, but oddly enough, Hyunjin was the one who insisted on going. He stumbled both on his feet and over his words on the way inside, with Jisung’s arm hooked around him to keep him nice and vertical.

"I'm nervous. Do I even look okay?"

Inside the elevator, Hyunjin suffered a tiny, jittery death again, but a less sensual one this time. He took a lopsided swig of rosé, but half of it ended up running down the blue, silky collar of the shirt chosen especially for him. And _oh god,_ how adorable he was. All flushed with strands of wavy, damp hair trailing down his cheekbones.

At the same time, Jisung could clearly see _low tolerance_ plastered on a blinking billboard inside his brain. Moderating tipsiness levels was crucial, and he wasn’t about to let him out of his sight for even a second.

"You look like a million bucks,” he assured him, always clueless as to how he was so unaware of his own charms. “And there's nothing to be nervous about. Minho told us to come earlier, to avoid that dreaded moment of multiple eyes turning your way when you arrive to a party. I know how gross that is."

Turned out that was the right call, and enough to placate Hyunjin, at least momentarily. Minho's gigantic penthouse resembled a luxurious wasteland as he welcomed them, doused with some high-end cologne and buzzing with energy.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite chipmunk and his amazingly beautiful and talented boy...uhm... _friend_. Welcome to my humble abode. How are you guys? You look totally in love."

Hyunjin turned into a flustered, pink-cheeked mess at the praise, while Jisung just quipped something about, _do we?_ A few minutes later they stood on Minho's fluffy living room rug, marveling at his newly purchased chandelier. Just as he was in the middle of trying to convince them it wasn't that expensive, a very giddy Felix appeared, along with the biggest bottle of moët Jisung had ever seen.

Hyunjin looked utterly fascinated at the sight of it, while Jisung really wasn't. Not even five minutes in, and people were already drinking champagne straight from the bottle like it was the most normal thing in the world. Which it wasn’t, not by a long shot, he’d come to realize that now. But he hoped Hyunjin wouldn’t judge them all too harshly.

"Well hey there Felix, going all in I see."

He received a sorrowful nod in return, before being informed that the exam he probably flunked today was the culprit. And okay, Jisung was pretty sure they both sat in the same boat regarding that. But to stress the fact that he just wanted to drown his sorrows, Felix helped himself to yet another generous swig.

"Ew, that's gross. Anyway, hey Hyunjin, you look really nice. How are you?"

With all the attention on him, Hyunjin turned perpetually shy again. But Minho — a true fan of the limelight — acted like an impeccable host, instantly saving him.

"Now that we've got greetings out of the way you need to help me. Listen, do I look like someone you'd wanna date?"

Critical and half-amused eyes scanned over him where he stood, hands on his hips and pouting alluringly. But once he saw Jisung's upper lip dubiously curling, he realized it might not be his smartest question ever.

"Do you really want me to —”

"Yeah okay don't answer that, but which shirt should I wear, this one or this one? I wanna impress Lucas.”

When all three of them looked like living question marks, Minho turned increasingly sour. 

“The guy I was talking about, _duh.”_

After a chorus of _aaaah's_ , their gazes switched between the shirt he held up in front of them, and the one he already was wearing. Hyunjin’s head was tilted curiously, his expression focused as if he really was making an effort to be helpful, the actual angel.

Jisung extended a hand, patting his friend’s shoulder in consolation. Being Lee Minho with a crush must be so stressful.

"I don't know if you failed to notice, but they're identical."

"No see this one is shamrock green and this one is parakeet green."

Felix nearly choked on a mouthful of champagne. He had to be repeatedly slam-dunked in the back to recover, and once he was able to form sentences again, he promised Minho he’d throw him off his own balcony unless he quit being so blatantly upper class.

“Mimimi. Anyway make yourselves at home, everything you need is in the kitchen. And feel free to play your crappy K-pop music, Jisung.” He turned, sauntering off with one last doting glance at Hyunjin. “I'll be right out, toodeloo."

"It's not crappy," Jisung pouted as he gathered his protege again, this time steering to the kitchen with Felix in tow. "Who doesn't love K-pop?"

Hyunjin certainly seemed to. Soon he occupied one of Minho's cream-colored couches, his chin bobbing up and down to the slow beat. With a melon-flavored alcopop in his hand and his million dollar smile adorning his lips, Jisung thought he fit in here like a ball in a glove.

But as more of their friends slowly trickled in, he visibly tensed up. The sipping intensified, but Jisung just pacified him with hands curled protectively around his shoulders. They were nice, he promised him they were, despite their posh appearance and theatrical demeanor.

They were, all of them on their best behavior since Minho had told them beforehand that Jisung would be bringing a love interest. The host of the evening shuttled around the place like a shamrock-green bunny, making sure that polite _hi's_ and _hello's_ were exchanged until all stiffness had dissipated. A cheesy K-pop ballad started playing somewhere in the background, the sounds of slightly intoxicated younglings surrounded them, and Jisung pulled a giggling Hyunjin into the kitchen again. 

After cracking another alcopop open for him — strawberry and lime this time — he coaxed him onto the balcony, closing the door to muffle the pounding bass and the clinking of glasses. The air was dampened with leftover rain, but the sky was crystal clear. Adorned with clusters of stars, it stretched for miles in front of them. 

And Hyunjin soaked it all up, breathless as he leaned against the railing.

"Holy shit."

"Yeah," Jisung agreed, sneaking a hand around his waist. Eventually, he was rewarded with a kiss, for keeping his promise of bringing him to the tallest building in the city. 

It tasted sweet. Like youth, strawberries and great expectations.

The evening morphed into a wet little blur as the floors turned more and more slippery with spilled drinks and the air saturated with amplifying, drunken laughter. By one AM, Jisung's hip had nearly dislocated, because they'd _danced_. And the thing was, he didn't dance. But Tipsy-Hyunjin had the power of making him do anything and everything, it appeared.

They’d returned to the couch again when Minho flopped down next to them, looking like the poster boy of grump. A chestnut-brown strand of hair poked up at the back of his head, having escaped its stiff gel-prison. And if his slapdash appearance wasn't enough of a testament to his current mood, he was also downing a bottle of wine worryingly fast.

"Hi."

Jisung reluctantly cast a filmy-eyed glance at him just as he emptied it. The bottle was deposited on the table with unnecessary force, and then his arms folded as he bounced back into the cushions with a huff.

"What's up with you?"

"I have a problem. Lucas might be bi."

Jisung did some computing, which resulted in nothing, because he really didn't understand how that was an issue. Felix, who'd materialized out of nowhere during his monologue, nearly tripped over all of their legs when cramming himself between them and parroting that exact thought.

"Ow...uh, how's that a problem? You're bi too."

 _"Yeah,_ but he might be interested in...oh, speak of the devil."

An apple-cheeked, beaming young woman — Yeri, their mutual friend from college — joined them, gracefully sinking down next to Hyunjin. As she did, Minho’s face darkened even more if that was even possible. But she paid him no attention while she made herself comfortable, greeting them with a bright smile and a flick of her long, rose-blonde hair.

"Hi! Oh, I just have to say Hyunjin, you look like a model or something. And you’re _so_ good at dancing. Like wow, I was talking to Seulgi and Irene just a moment ago, and they're kinda gutted you're into guys."

Her gushing was met by a slew of _thank you's_ and nervous tittering from Hyunjin, but just as a discussion was about to erupt, Minho apparently decided to cause a whole scene.

"Yes hi Yeri, could you stop hitting on my man Lucas?"

She quieted, staring at him across Jisung’s and Hyunjin’s lap, her lips slightly puckered in confusion.

" _Your_ man? He seemed pretty into me five minutes ago."

"Uh, yeah, just cause you squirmed all over him. Who wouldn't be."

The rest of them listened to the heated exchange that with rising amusement, their eyes zapping back and forth between them. After a while of hissing and gesticulating, Yeri was on the winning end, not even slightly fazed by the acidic looks the room’s most notorious playboy sent her.

"The audacity. You're the one who squirmed. Oh, and that sleazy upper class moustache you’re trying to grow looks like a string of bleached pubes.”

Her smile was victorious when Felix's mouth fell open following that scathing burn, and Minho turned beet-red. It didn't take long for his palm to be slapped over said moustache.

"I’m not trying to grow a…I just shaved badly, it’s not... _well your hair looks like hay.”_

"They're always like this," Jisung informed a wide-eyed Hyunjin, just as Yeri shot up and declared that Minho was a dumb baboon and that she’d never even poke him with a stick.

But at some point they disappeared, wobbling off to the kitchen while still squabbling like a pair of first graders. And when Jisung and Hyunjin found them again, they were closely entangled in front of the stove. Engaged in a sloppy makeout session. With each other.

'Oh, hey guys," Jisung commented nonchalantly, causing both of them to jolt. "That took an interesting turn."

Yeri smoothed out the wrinkles in her sparkly dress with a sheepish grin, while Minho hurried to wipe his lips clean of pink lipstick.

"Oh yeah, hey...we were just um, I was helping Yeri with her...I mean... _anyway_ , anyone want another drink?!"

Jisung remained gleeful, totally prepared to tease him for all eternity. But as he turned to Hyunjin again, his smile melted off him. A hint of curly, side-swept black hair was visible in the distance, a spurt of guttural, fake laughter he'd recognized anywhere carrying over the music. As the individual approached, elbowing his way through the crowd, Jisung realized he wasn’t shitfaced beyond belief and imagining things. It really was who he thought it was.

In a heartbeat, he’d dragged Minho to the side by the scruff of his neck, and wasted no time questioning why exactly this was the case.

“What the fuck is that pompous asshole doing here?!”

"Ow, _sorry,_ okay, I didn't know he was coming, someone must have invited him —"

But there was no time to explain. The pompous asshole had already stalked up to them, flanked by his gang of greasy, smug-faced minions, and Minho’s feverish rambling was interrupted.

"Well as I live and breathe, Han Jisung. You look nice."

"Yes, hi, and bye," Jisung replied, drier than unsoaked weetabix. His fingers found their way around Hyunjins waist again, pulling him closer while he hoped Zaky would just take the hint and leave, but nope. After a sip of wine and a smack of his lips, he bestowed Hyunjin his undivided — and very much uninvited — attention.

"So who's this? Saw you guys together on the couch."

Hyunjin, already sensing that this guy wasn't good news, looked like he wanted to evaporate into thin air. Despite being like a head taller, he appeared to shrink tenfold as Zaky readjusted his thick, non-prescription glasses, and scanned him. Every inch of him, like a predator zooming in on its prey.

"I don't really think that's any of your business," Jisung snapped, a low growl he made no effort to hold back. But the warning had no effect as usual. Squinty dragon eyes zeroed in on Hyunjin again, surveying him from head to toe until he twitched in discomfort.

"Haven't I seen you somewhere? Like out on the street, hanging around some very questionable neighborhoods?"

Hyunjin was pretty much quietly shaking underneath his palm, while Jisung was stuck in a wordless, hostile game of jenga with the slimy git that was his ex. And what happened next was that said ex pulled out the brick he really shouldn’t have, making his anger flare instantly, red and uncontrollably hot. 

"Seems like you've really downgraded."

 _"You better shut your face right now or I swear I'll_ _—”_

Exactly what remained a mystery, because Minho's panicked laughter sliced through the threatening atmosphere like a godsend. They were separated, gently but firmly, and Jisung was pushed back before he could sink claws into Zaky.

" _Okay_ , kumbaya, let’s all calm down. Zaky, shoo. Go remove the stick from your ass. Hey, anyone want a blunt? It's cozy o’clock, I think.”

Thankfully for Zaky, he scattered like dust in the wind after one last superlicious glance at Hyunjin. Meaning, thankfully for his sake, since it saved Jisung's fist the effort of having to collide with his face. While the rest of the guests swarmed around Minho and his little stash on the table, Jisung turned to Hyunjin with a sigh. Snatching a few alcopops and escaping into one of the lavish guest rooms seemed like a good idea right now.

But he didn't get as far as to suggesting it. Instead, he watched all of the color basically drain from Hyunjin's face, saw his eyes glimmering with downright fear. And he didn't react, didn't move a muscle when Jisung repeatedly asked what's wrong.

"Listen, I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you that they might smoke some. But it doesn’t mean that _we_ have to —”

But it was too late. Hyunjin had already made a swift exit, leaving him gaping in confusion. He locked glossy eyes with Minho for just a fraction of a second — and then he darted after him. When he reached him he was halfway down the driveway already, his sneakers shuffling over rain-soaked gravel and hands struggling to pull the green peacoat on.

“Hyunjin, it’s just _weed,_ I don’t do it, and neither do you have to —”

But all Jisung’s pleas were ignored, his hands swiftly batted away, repeatedly.

"You don't get it, if there's even the slightest chance of the police showing I can't _be_ there."

Determined, he ripped the gate open with a creak, but Jisung was faster. He rushed past him, planting both palms on his chest to stop him, his voice strained as he fought to slow him down.

"Why?! Why though?”

 _"Jisung_ —”

 _"Please,_ tell me —”

_"Because I have a record, okay!?"_

It came out a rambled mess, bordering on both yelling and crying. Jisung was caught in a muddled haze as he heard his voice break, as he saw him rake fingers over his scalp in distress. The situation was spiraling again. What did he need to do? While he tried to figure it out, Hyunjin's voice climbed in pitch again.

"I can't be anywhere near drugs, cause I was — cause...I fucked up massively, and I'll get arrested if… _fuck.”_

All that came out were incoherent garbles of noise, so he just gave up. Jisung’s concern levels had already reached unforeseen, nebulous proportions, and by that time Minho had flung himself out of the door behind them and caught up. He finally skidded to a stop before them, his hands planted on his knees as he caught his breath,

"God, fuck, my legs aren’t made for running...uh, I'm so sorry Hyunjin. I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable —”

"No, no, it's not your fault, it's…"

But next, they were joined by none other than Chris, and he was spared the trouble of having to explain himself. After informing the little congregation that he was late because of his evening shift, he dug eyes into Minho. He really wanted to know what all this shouting was about, even though he had a hunch already. A pretty strong one. 

Soon, his and Minho’s voices blended into a cacophony of hiccuping and scolding, once it was affirmed that it was exactly what he suspected.

"Seriously, though? Can't you have one single party without whipping out the weed?"

“It’s not that big of a _deal,_ Chris, _come on._..”

 _“Yeah but you have neighbors you know and that shit reeks_ —”

Jisung and Hyunjin crept to the side, quietly regarding each other while Minho and Chris argued like an old married couple. Eventually, Chris came out the winner, as always. While he waited with his eyebrows raised, Minho stepped up to them with another round of apologies ready, all of which Hyunjin insisted were completely unnecessary.

“Okay, but...will you come back upstairs?”

Jisung promptly declined on both of their behalf. All he wanted was to wrap Hyunjin into a protective cocoon again, like right freaking now.

"It’s okay Minho, don’t worry. But I think we're leaving, getting kinda late anyway.”

"It was really fun though Minho, thank you. Really,” Hyunjin sniffed quietly. Minho gave a little melancholic sigh, managing to look sincere for a change. And Jisung knew he was.

“Of course. You’re welcome at my place any time, Hyunjinnie. Get home safely, huh.”

* * *

Back in Jisung's apartment, everything was as they left it. A few sticky patches of rosé coated the floorboards, a pile of clothes occupying most the bed. Jisung sat cross-legged on it, blurry eyes vigilantly studying Hyunjin where he stood, peering out the window. He'd been much too subdued, ever since they arrived home.

“Are you okay? I'm sorry about Zaky, really...he's an absolute bitch.”

“I don’t understand how you even want to talk to me after what I told you,” Hyunjin mumbled flatly, without looking at him. 

Jisung stifled a series of violent hiccups, trying his utmost to untangle his brain. Oh yeah. He'd already pretty much forgot about that part. He'd been preoccupied with other things, such as quietly cursing out his ex and his insufferable personality.

“Of course I want to talk to you. The thing is...I know you. Well uh...a little bit at least," he added in afterthought. “So I'm sure you had your reasons...I wish you’d tell me though.”

Hyunjin remained indifferent, his voice level while he kept staring at seemingly nothing in particular.

"There's not much to tell. I didn't use to deal with life on the street all that well. Kinda ended up in bad company. Got hooked on blow, got raided by the cops one time. And bam.”

He snorted the last bit out, harshly.

"Dot in the register, and another disgusting cliché for you. You're welcome."

"No. Don't say that."

Jisung was pretty sure there was more to it. The confession left him reeling, not with disdain, but with shock. Every new, dire revelation felt like a cold hand squeezing his lungs. And yeah, he had questions — but right now, he just wanted to dispel Hyunjin’s voice of that bitter, self-deprecating edge. Get him warm, snug and comfortable again.

"Are you tired? I can order a pizza and we can watch some dumb movie on Netflix.”

But there was no reaction. Hyunjin gaze lingered somewhere over the rooftops, his face blank.

"They'd be so proud of me now wouldn't they, huh. If they saw where I ended up."

"Who?"

No answer. But it didn't take Jisung long to solve the riddle when he realized what he held in his hands. The photo from before. 

His head cleared at once, leaving all his senses on high alert. Maybe he wasn't as smart as he'd thought. Not if he'd managed to screw things up by adding alcohol into the mix and send Hyunjin spiraling into an emotional whirlpool again.

 _Fuck._ He craned his neck to the side, trying to catch him, only to watch him stubbornly lower his head and let his hair shield his face.

“Listen, no. They wouldn't think badly of you, I know they wouldn't. Come here and lay down and i'll go get —”

"I killed them."

The world fell to its knees.

The planet stopped its rotation, traffic ceased outside, and all was quiet.

Jisung could practically hear his own heartbeat floundering about. But he could do nothing. Nothing but stutter dumbly and hope he'd experienced auditory hallucinations or something.

"...what?"

"You heard me. I killed them. I killed my mother and sister."

The soft glow of the nightstand lamp cast shadows over Hyunjin's hunched back, making the fabric of his shirt resemble a night sky. He shifted slightly. Midnight blue silk flowed over his shoulder blades, hugging him just right. So much softer, so much nicer than gritty concrete and wet tile walls. 

Jisung felt a wave of nausea overtake him. He couldn't see him, only the spirals of blonde hair, the slight tremble of his hands as he clutched the photo tighter.

"What are you talking about," he interfered carefully, wondering if Hyunjin was totally stable right now. "You didn't kill them, you said they died in a car crash.”

As he uttered the last part, Hyunjins head shot up. He looked out over the city, at all its flashing lights and cars speeding too fast. It's not like it would ever actually stop, it never did. It didn't care about him, it kept spinning. No matter how much he wanted to stop and rewind.

"Honestly, I was so reckless as a kid."

"Hyunjin —”

"My mom didn't even want me to get that stupid skateboard. She thought I'd fall and crack my skull open. I almost did a few times."

Jisung could see his lips stretching into a harrowing smile. Totally unfit for the situation, and it made him shiver with bad omens. 

"I didn't listen when my dad said I couldn't go outside because dinner was almost ready," he continued, shaking his head as if to berate himself. "I didn't listen, I never did. I'd almost nailed a heelflip. I wanted to impress this boy who lived down the street who'd winked at me."

A hollow laugh shook the walls in the guest room, followed by an angry sob as his vocal cords betrayed him.

"I didn't know he wasn't even interested in guys, or at least not me."

Jisung had a feeling he wasn't even there anymore. He’d entered a reality he didn't have access to, and he felt like an intruder again, like he had no right to listen to this. But at the same time he could do nothing but listen. His heart sunk to the bottom of his chest like a rock, pressing down heavier with each passing second.

"All just for a stupid trick." Hyunjin had turned sideways now, the photo hanging limply, just barely connected to his fingers.

"I lost control and scurried out into the road," he mumbled, so quietly Jisung had to perk his ears to hear. "And why was she speeding? She never did, never when my little sister was in the car." He paused again, his lips curling in confusion. Jisung called his name, but it achieved nothing.

"She probably wanted to make it home in time so the lasagna wouldn't get cold. But why the fuck was that, my dad was a shit chef anyway. He couldn't even make ramen properly...he always made it too soggy."

He snorted a laugh, distorted and weird. It was odd that it was on _that_ part he'd break — but he did. Shaking with a mix of hysterical laughter and panicked sobs, he paid no attention to Jisung when he sharply told him to turn around.

"I didn't _listen_ —”

_"Hyunjin..."_

"She saw me in the road, veered to the side and hit a tree. The car caught fire."

He spoke the last part robotically, like a news anchor covering their latest scoop. Jisung was halfway off the bed, dread tugging at him when he looked at him. Looked at him when he turned, finally, his eyes like haunted voids, so deep that he wasn't sure if he could even plunge in and reach him at that point. 

"I killed them, Jisung."

The walls crumbled, his face crumbled, everything crumbled. Sobs tore through him, starting small and slicing him into smaller and smaller parts, bit by bit. 

"Why did she turn?”

Jisung was already on his feet, grabbing onto his flailing hands when he tried to wrench himself away.

"Why did she turn?! _She should have hit me_ —"

"Stop, _stop_. Listen. Listen." He cupped his cheeks, fighting to keep his voice steady because he was in danger of just breaking, too. "You didn't kill them, you didn't do it on _purpose._ Understand? _"_

But all he was met with was more frantic head-shaking as he fought with him, trying to prevent the words pouring out of him, but they did. He couldn’t stop them, and they did, one by one. 

"I killed them, my dad thinks so too, I should have died _instead_ —”

" _No_."

The rest came out a strangled mess. Jisung yanked roughly on his arm, providing interjectory hisses, _no no no no_. He couldn’t listen to it anymore, not a single word, because all of them were like needles puncturing his heart. Those things weren't allowed to come out of his mouth, they just weren't.

He ignored the half-assed attempts at slithering away, successfully wrestling him down on the bed after a short struggle. There, he quickly closed arms around him in the hopes of maybe containing him before the dam burst, but no.

Soon he ugly-sobbed into Jisung’s chest — thick, thick gobs of remorse, while Jisung nuzzled into his hair, fingers slipping under his shirt and digging into his spine. 

“Don't say that. Don't ever say that, no you shouldn’t. No you shouldn’t.”

“I miss them... _I miss them_ …”

"I know. I know, but it was an _accident_ , baby. It wasn't your fault."

The more layers he peeled off, the more he realized that the foundations keeping Hyunjin intact were so fragile they were barely there. And he was desperate. To close the wounds, but trails of red just kept oozing out, soiling the sheets and their entire existence. It shouldn't happen, there weren’t enough band-aids to patch this up. His soothing words fell short, and he felt useless, just as useless as he did the day they met, because he couldn't fix this. None of it. 

But while Hyunjin cried himself to sleep, he did the only thing he could. Held onto every single, brittle piece. 

"I've got you." He dragged him further into his lap, scattered dusted pink petals from their garden all around them, to soak up the pools of blood. "And I'm never letting you go again. Never." 

He'd repeat it, he would. He'd do it forever. Over, over, and over, no matter how many times it would take until it stuck.  
  



	10. anarchy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi o/
> 
> Hope everyone's doing well. This chap was late because of my exams and assignments :L anyway, no warnings I think, except swearing?
> 
> Thanks for reading ♡ take care ♡
> 
> PS fic might go on hiatus over the holidays so Merry Christmas everyone and till next time
> 
> [also, hello](https://youtu.be/jSs9oYML44U)

Hangovers were always a bit _meh._ Moreover, Jisung was no stranger to them. 

He’d woken up feeling like a drenched sock puppet too many times to count, with holes punched in last night’s recollections and a nice throbbing in his temples to go with it. Because fizzy drinkables were notorious for causing the most satanic of headaches, and Jisung — well the Jisung of the past, at least — was notoriously known for indulging in them.

Right now, he actually felt fine, physically. But mentally, the expression _post-drinking-blues_ suddenly held a whole new meaning. Because this wasn't like that. This wasn’t the type of hangover easily alleviated by Netflix and greasy food and cuddling. And Jisung would have paid big bucks to just make Hyunjin’s main concern a sore head and embarrassment over some drunken texts. 

The night didn’t end with pizza and a makeout session like it was supposed to. Jisung had to literally peel his clothes off him while he shook with cries, dress him in a soft t-shirt and try to shush him after he recited the most harrowing of narratives — and in what universe was that fair and okay?

It wasn't, but he'd have to deal with it. A pack of painkillers bided their time on the nightstand, ready for consumption. The sheets lay crumpled at their feet, kicked off them by Hyunjin at some point, his t-shirt bunched around his chest as a result of anxious tossing and turning. 

Jisung leaned over his sleeping form, careful not to jostle him too much as he checked the time. Past two PM. The room felt like a graveyard, saturated with a lingering smell of flat alcohol, even though he’d already briefly crawled out of bed to gather all the bottles and quickly scrub the patches off the floor. 

The blinds were shut, allowing only a faint string of afternoon light to flicker over Hyunjin's cheekbones intermittently. Now, his face was a stark contrast to yesterday. A blank canvas, features smooth and spirals of blonde fanned out over the midnight blue pillow like a halo. And Jisung soaked it all up gingerly, letting fingers brush over the curve of his waist and settle on his tummy, feeling it rise and fall. 

_"Hyunjin…"_

He kept one hand curled around his waist while crooning him awake, using whatever came to mind. _Baby_ and _rise and shine_ and all that sweet nonsense he loved so much. Once he stirred the tranquil expression instantly faded, eyes flying open only to scrunch in pain the second after.

_"Ow…"_

"Headache?"

"Yeah...kill me..."

"Lightweight," Jisung teased, and then instantly regretted it when faced with shimmery eyes and a miserable pout. "Aw, no, sorry, sorry...I’ve got you, hold on…you should eat something with them, though."

He scurried off to get him some miniature bags of chips, and even held the bottle of water for him, all while he grumbled and made pitiful keening noises. And to Jisungs dismay, he was reluctant to look at him, constantly evading any attempts at eye contact. So eventually he just opted for leaning back against the headboard, and tucking him under his biceps before he could wiggle off.

"You feel warm, do you have a fever?"

But his hands were batted away, a half-assed fight erupting when he tried to prod at his forehead again.

"Come on, I just need to _check_ —”

" _Jisung,_ I'm just _hungover_ …god, fine, fine."

He went limp with a capitulating sigh. Jisung was allowed to poke, and eventually, he reached the conclusion it might just be hangover-induced tremors. After settling, he gathered his hands and squeezed, and made a thing out of sounding chipper to lighten the stifling atmosphere.

"What do you want to do today?"

"Chop my head off," Hyunjin informed, since he apparently was the new poster boy of gloom.

And alright. The sarcasm was kind of expected, but Jisung really wasn’t here for it.

"You sound like Minho after a three day bender. It's not that bad. We could eat a whole box of mochis, and finish that show we started. I'm just dying to see who Miss Chang ends up with, hopefully both of those guys, they can have a happy polyamorous ever after.”

Hyunjin snort-tittered at that, thankfully. They lay snuggled up a while in silence, but subjects needing breaching hung between them in strings. And during the entirety of it, Jisung rested his chin on Hyunjin’s head, busy trying to figure out the easiest way to approach them, but there was no easy way. There never bloody was.

"Listen," he started, carefully as if handling a newborn puppy, "I know you probably feel like shit, but...are you kinda sorta okayish, or...at least think you can be?"

There was a tiny noise, a mix between a sigh and sob. The Hyunjin-bundle in his lap twitched, and it was clear he didn't want to talk or think about any of this, none of it. But if he didn't, Jisung was worried it would just fester inside and make him crash even harder next time.

“I know yesterday ended badly. I know you're upset, but I want to be there for you no matter what."

He nestled into his hair, engulfing all of him as tightly as he could, but it didn't help. Didn't prevent Hyunjin from retorting with the most bitter tone he'd heard yet.

“You’re insane, Jisung. Did you forget what I told you yesterday, I’m basically a _criminal.”_

"Yeah, so what? It didn't ruin anything. I know you have a past, and I want to find out about it, but...whatever trouble you have with the police...it doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter huh," Hyunjin mirrored, again much too dejectedly. The covers were pulled up to his chin, leaving only clotted tufts of blonde visible. And Jisung had no idea how he was supposed to get his point across right now, because Hyunjin was sinking into some murky hole again, too fast.

"Yes. Doesn't matter. Or I mean obviously it _matters_ , but everyone makes mistakes, and by the sounds of it, you had a pretty rough time. It's like I said yesterday, I know you...and this doesn't change how I feel."

It was an absolute, unwavering truth. But apparently the sentiment — no matter how true — didn't sit well with the receiver. The sheets were thrown aside, Jisungs arms left hugging air as he shot up, batteries apparently recharged out of nowhere.

"What reality are you living in, Jisung?"

Warning bells started ringing when he saw Hyunjin’s animated features twist in agony again, because he _really_ didn't want a repeat of yesterday. With a groan, he slowly worked himself into sitting, one hand extended and intended to coax him down again.

"Calm down —”

"No, but really. Answer me." 

Jisung let his cogwheels turn for a few seconds, in frantic search of the right answer. But as usual, he didn’t find it.

"I...don't know," he finally admitted. "In a pretty questionable one considering the state of society and the planet, but...at least it has you and other nice things in it."

It soon became clear that Hyunjin didn't appreciate his attempt at humor. Not the slightest bit, nope. He tutted, sighed, unused vocal cords betraying him as he continued ranting, and Jisung already knew nothing good would come out of this.

"Yeah, okay. And are you under the impression that this is some kind of fairytale where I just quit stripping, and breeze through an education and find a white collar job, just like that?" 

"No —”

"...or will you introduce me to your upper class parents as the homeless guy with a track record? The _sex worker_ , ex-junkie, immoral heathen. I'm sure they'll approve."

" _No_." Jisung was vertical in seconds, latching onto his wrist and giving it a good shake. Once he had his attention, his tone lowered to a gentle whisper.

" _Stop_ belittling yourself. I'll introduce you as the intelligent, charismatic and kind person that you are."

It worked as intended. Hyunjin deflated, the next garbled words barely audible as he let himself be pulled down on the bed again.

"Things are just complicated, okay."

"Yeah, so you keep saying, huh. But they're not impossible."

He succumbed to a small outpouring of tears after that, but Jisung dried them all. Pulled him with him, stripped him and manhandled him into the shower, gently. Dropped feathery kisses all over the wet expanse of his skin and announced everything would be alright and believed it.

Everything, he did everything. The day consisted of all the aforementioned, safe and mundane things — Netflix, melona, snacks, cuddles, the works. Hyunjin snoozed next to him on the couch like an overgrown kitten, while Jisung finished up some assignments and vacantly stroked his hair ever so often — but it still wasn't enough. 

As evening fell, and a tiny critter made its home in his gut, eating away at him. But he ignored the feeling of unease, making sure not stray too far from Hyunjin — and when they drifted off later, his arm lay loosely curled around his waist like always.

But once he woke, it didn’t. It lay limply on the mattress, next to a yellow post-it note.

 _I'm_ _sorry. Need some time. Don't worry about me._

A fire erupted in the garden, setting the tree crowns aflame and leaving piles of fried petals in its wake. Felix and Minho ran around with fire extinguishers, while Jisung read the note multiple times, hoping it would just disintegrate in his hands and he’d wake up. But it didn’t. 

_Don't worry about me,_ huh. God damn this kid.

Jisung leapt out of bed, checked every single room in his apartment, hoping he’d just find him splayed out on the couch, reading, like he had a charming tendency to. But there was nothing, just unsettling silence. Jisung didn’t find anything but his melon pajamas on the bed, some scattered clothes, plus the paperback — _They both die at the end_ — on the kitchen table.

"No...no... _no, fucker_ —”

He was gone. 

Jisung must have failed to pick up on it, some micro cues letting him know that he was secretly planning an abrupt exit. But his mind was blank, heart about to split in half because this kept happening. And maybe it wouldn't if he'd said it, if they’d transpired, the words lingering on his tongue for some time now.

He screamed. And the entire building went still. 

The next twenty minutes were spent shuffling around his apartment mindlessly, dressed in nothing but boxers and with his phone pressed to his ear. Beep after useless beep passed, _beep, beep, beep,_ but there was no Hyunjin answering with that endearing childlike enthusiasm, of course not.

He thought he had him. That they'd finally reached the endgame after all these months, but no. He was as unpredictable as the day he met him.

Next on the agenda was dialing the one person who might be up for giving him some insight amidst all this chaos. And once he picked up, Chris had to keep the phone at arms length, because Jisung instantly threw himself into a monologue with an intensity bordering on hysteria.

" _Jisung_ , christ sakes...calm down, okay?!"

"I _can't_ Chris...I feel like I’m pushing him into remembering things he wants to forget, and now I can’t be there to deal with the aftermath because he took a _hike."_

"Give him a few days," Chris suggested, calmly as ever. "He said he needs time, right? He's probably emotional right now...he might come back.”

“Yeah but this isn't any regular dude who just went home to his own place for a timeout, he's out on the fucking _street_ and the fact he's emotional is the _problem._ " 

That realization struck Jisung, urgent and painful, and after stumbling to the window to shove the curtains aside, he almost lost it. Because it was absolutely doomsday pouring with rain.

"God damn it...I can never find the right words to say to him, Chris. I can't make him stay."

Chris sighed out his response, sympathetic, but not entirely surprised in the face of his predicament. “You can’t _make_ him do anything, Jisung. He has to want it. You can only help him along a little,” he added wisely after some rumination.

Jisung had picked up the tattered paperback from the table. Now he turned it over in his hand, choking up when examining the little folded ear indicating Hyunjin had almost reached the end. But now he’d left it behind in his hurry to bail out as fast as possible.

And it stung. That he left, again and again.

“Maybe he’s right," Jisung mumbled. “Maybe I’m just delusional and thinking it’ll be easy, that he’ll move in and find something else to do and we’ll figure it all out and…what if it doesn’t work? What if…"

As he let the sentence fizzle out, he looked out of the kitchen window. Over the ominous clouds stretching over the rooftops, the maze of undulating streets below them. He was out there, somewhere. 

“...what if I'm in over my head on this one. What if I can't help him."

It was the first time he'd said it out loud. That he might not have enough to offer, because who was he to understand or sympathize with a life dogged by such overwhelming misfortune. No one.

And that might be the case, but at the other end, Chris was very much set on not letting him wallow in self pity.

“So what are you gonna do? Give up just cause things got a little hard, and go back to living your comfy lifestyle where you never have to lift a finger or worry about anything?”

"...what?”

“Well kinda seems like it." A can cracked open in the background, followed by a nonchalant slurp. "Kinda sound like a whiny brat right now."

“Wow. Rude.”

Jisung wasted no time snorting out his indignation over the inconsiderate turn the conversation had taken — but it only made Chris counter him with an even more potent snort.

“Truth. Sounds like you’re done."

“ _No_. No, hell no.”

He did a full 360, stomping in the direction of his bedroom to pull out whatever clothes he could find. What an insult. As if he would _ever._

“Good,” Chris mused. “But Jisung, listen. You did everything you could. It’s not your fault that he left, but..."

Jisung took a break, pants halfway around his knees, as the last sneakily encouraging push was delivered..

"...but it's your fault if you give up on him."

* * *

  
  


Time was back to limitless. The air held a tiny promise of balmy summer days, just a slight perceivable hint, but it was something.

But nights were still chilly, the asphalt still mostly soaked. Mud coated Hyunjin's sneakers as he trudged the streets like a ghost, no destination or goal in sight. And as insane as it sounded, it did provide him an odd sense of comfort and familiarity

But still, he couldn't deny it. He'd left Jisung’s place on a whim, struck by some unidentified panic he couldn't quite pinpoint. 

Fear of intimacy, maybe. That darned thing all humans craved, and he was no different; but simultaneously he dreaded it. Feeling things.

And what he told Jisung about being reckless didn't only include recklessness, but a bad habit of acting on impulse, too. The overwhelming onslaught of emotion and resurfacing memories sent his limbic cortex into a tailspin, and the only appropriate way he knew to deal with it was to run. 

He'd spent the last seven years of his life doing exactly that. Running, from his dad, foster parents, authorities. From his undigested past when it wanted to just yank him back and sink its claws into him; running was easier.

And relief did wash over him once he burst outside, leaving pressing questions about things better off buried behind. But the thing was, it didn't last. Jisung didn't fade from his mind, and how dumb was he to believe that he would? Jisung was his everything. The realization of what he'd lost slammed into him full force eventually, but at that point he was miles away and too scared to go back.

Snippets of their time together played in front of him day and night in quick succession, a never ceasing montage featuring his face, voice, hands — only to end with a big fat message written in bold italics.

_You fucked up._

It had been...five days.

Five days of dodging his messages and keeping a low profile, of trying to make himself believe that it was better this way, and failing. And now he didn't know where to go at the end of his shift tonight. Back out there? 

To the concrete wasteland with no hope for a future for him, but he felt like he had nowhere else.

Everything was business as usual. A cloud of smoke met him after the bouncer held the door open for him, and from there he steered into the changing room. Muttered lackluster greetings to coworkers, worked himself into his outfit — another pair of unwashed leather pants, suspenders, and black tape over his chest, how vulgar — all on autopilot. It was theme night, but he’d forgotten that, so he wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to be. 

Sexy guerrilla fighter, maybe. Fighting a useless war against himself.

After finishing it all off with thick black streaks — war paint — on his cheeks, and spending a few minutes in front of the mirror, he could conclude that he looked, blatantly put, like crap. Not even thick layers of eyeliner and concealer could fix it. But what did he expect, exactly. His skin felt coated in grime, and the sleep deprivation he'd struggled with wore him like a tailored suit. Because it hadn't come, not for several nights. 

What the fuck was he _doing?_

Honestly, he had no clue. The fluorescent light hurt him, everything around him too bright, the chitter chatter of the room's other residents too abrasive.

"What's up with you? You okay?"

A silvery voice tinted with concern — belonging to his coworker — came from behind him. After collecting himself, he mumbled something about a nasty headache _,_ and swung around, but the face he expected to see wasn't there. Instead, he was greeted by folded arms accompanied by a pair of unamused, narrowed eyes zooming in on him.

“Is this how you come to work now, Hyunjin? You look like you've lain in a gutter for a whole day.” 

"Well, thanks. Don't worry, I’m fucking fine."

The loaded silence that erupted let him know he'd just majorly overstepped. Mr Park was no fan of rude attitudes, or swearing either, for that matter.

"Might wanna rephrase."

Hyunjin didn't have to be told twice. He slapped an artificial smile on, and bowed curtly.

"I'm sorry sir, I'm alright, just have a slight cold. Best get to it."

If there was a response, he didn't catch it. The lights dimmed, his path framed by anonymous figures clutching pints of beer and craning their heads in recognition as he criss-crossed his way around the tables. And maybe it was a bad idea, well, he was certain it was — but before heading up on stage where he was supposed to be five minutes ago, he made a beeline for the bar.

Definitely a bad idea. But right now, he cared worryingly little about that, and even less about the sensible, internal voice — that actually sounded a lot like Jisung — attempting to talk some sense into him.

"Hey, could I have a vodka on the rocks."

The bartender whipped it up in no time, and it found its way down his throat even faster, along with a couple of painkillers. He was fully aware a combination of the two was even worse of an idea, but with a brain replaced by a mining drill and a shift to slog through, he didn’t care.

It toned down the ache, and during the span of the next few hours, the same concoction found its way into his system more than once. Not to make him blasted beyond belief, but to help him ignore the fact his insides were just relentlessly screaming at him to pick up his phone. _Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up,_ write Jisung — and say what, exactly?

 _I'm sorry_ might be a good start. But he might not even respond.

So he just danced instead. But the blinking lights and flow of customers quickly morphed into a sea of colors and shapes, spinning and flickering. At some point, everything was moving too fast, and at the same time he noticed his boss in the corner, gesturing at him to get off the stage.

With a groan he realized he probably was about to be scolded for teetering on the verge of a little too tipsy. But before he could make his way over, his route was blocked. At first it just looked like a collection of floating pixels, but once he’d squinted and rearranged it into something akin to a person, he could conclude who it was. A fancy-looking gentleman in a dark suit, who'd sent him indiscreet looks for a few hours now.

"Excuse me. Could I have a word with you in the corner over there?"

Hyunjin let himself be herded aside by fingers lightly resting on the small of his back. He was fairly certain he was just fishing for a lapdance, but it soon became apparent he had other plans.

"I'd like to make a proposal," he announced with a courteous smile, leaning in to overrule the music. "Spend the weekend with me at a hotel of my choosing, and I'll pay you generously."

Oh. One of these. But as he was about to politely but insistently decline, the sir's lips parted simultaneously. The amount he was willing to pay was revealed, causing Hyunjins blood to clot in his veins. He'd misheard, surely he had.

It was a lot. It was...more than he'd ever dream of being offered, and more than enough to pay off Mr Park. But while he reached that conclusion, images of Jisung flooded his brain, along with a panicked chorus of voices screaming at him — no, no, _no_ , _abort mission._

Mr Park slinked up to them in no time, hawk-eyes ever vigilant as he asked them if everything was alright. But at that point Hyunjin was already somewhere else, only able to register remote chunks of the conversation.

"I was just making your employee here an offer."

There were some scattered questions, because even though it wasn’t exactly against protocol, this wasn't a _brothel_ — which Mr Park also frostily pointed out. But once the seven digit sum slipped out again, his tone changed rather quickly. Soon his eyes were practically shining with won signs, because he must have figured out, just like Hyunjin, that this man was a potential goldmine.

Hyunjin didn't actually hear himself explicitly say yes, but he must have. Because the surroundings moved, his boots stuck to beer stains on the floor, his locker flew open, his coat and backpack were grabbed.

"This way."

A hand was on his back, occasionally slipping below his waist and ghosting over his ass as it steered him towards the exit. He allowed it to, forcing himself to block out any echoes of opposition. He'd be free of Mr Park, all of it, he could finally start fresh, he would. It worked as a motivator, removing some of the guilt scratching at him from inside, the hoarse voice still sobbing at him to not _do_ this. But it wasn't as loud and persistent as it should be, and a desperation that had lived within him for long took over.

The wet Friday night was in full swing once they made it onto the sidewalk. Next to him, his company let him know the car was nearby, and his feet shuffled on their own accord — but within him, the war still ongoing, and once they almost made it there, the right side got the upper hand.

He didn't want this. 

And when the fog cleared and he realized it, he was _this_ close to slamming the breaks on, but he ended up not having to. 

An insistent _hey_ behind them halted them. Mr Fancy Gentleman spun around, taken aback — but Hyunjin already knew who it was before he saw him. Knew, even though the soft timbre had climbed to uncharacteristically shrill in order to reach over the traffic.

Jisung. 

At that moment, it was as if the buildings around them shattered, the late night, drunken crowd next to them crumbled to dust. All that was left was Jisung, handsome and round-cheeked, and no one but him, him and his face, usually bright and grinning, now oddly expressionless. But under the façade lay something akin to disappointment — very well concealed, but definitely there. Hyunjin could tell as much.

He wanted to rewind this entire day. Actually nah. He wanted to rewind to the second he made the decision to leave. 

Meanwhile, his suitor seemed very keen on moving things along.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

Jisung fired off a cool smile, directed at Hyunjin. "I'll pay you double of what he's about to pay you."

Hyunjin’s breath lodged in his throat, his head falling forward in shame. Meanwhile, Jisung didn't even bother paying any attention to the third wheel of the group after letting the suggestion out, a fact that agitated Mr Fancy quite immensely.

"Now hold up here, who are you? This young man is with me, and we were just about to head out —”

"I think that's his choice who he goes with."

Jisung's gaze skidded to the perplexed man after the interruption, just for a second, before it settled on his protege again without faltering. By this time, the peculiar standoff had caught the attention of the bouncer. Hyunjin could see him shifting on his feet in his peripheral vision, just like the gentleman next to him, who had lost every ounce of manners at this point. 

"Well?! Make up your mind then!"

Tendrils of sweat ran down Hyunjin’s neck and spine, despite the icy chill. That sounded very demanding. And he was both grateful that Jisung happened to show up when he did, but also _terrified,_ because right now, this appeared nothing short of a monumental betrayal.

But despite feeling increasingly overwhelmed and also slightly nauseous, he managed a weak reply eventually.

"I'm…I'll...I'll go with...him."

Suit-clad arms shot out in exasperation, but the proximity to the bouncer and the arrival of a group of intoxicated citizens prevented any altercations. Instead, he settled for just wheezing out his disapproval _(unbelievable, what a waste of my time)_ before dramatically turning and stalking down the street.

"Hello stranger."

Jisung regarded him with curious interest. The door to the club next to them swung open to let out more jolly partygoers, and Hyunjin had the most inappropriate reaction. Why, he wasn't entirely sure; maybe due to the weirdly casual comment or the fact that he wasn't being yelled at right now. But in any case, he started laughing, only to eventually break into cries swaddled by the palm of his hand — and Jisung wasn’t late to react.

"Calm down and let's go."

But Hyunjin’s head shook fervently, his hand struggling to pry fingers off his coat sleeve. "Go _where_ —”

"Just come on," Jisung coaxed, still cool as a cucumber. "Follow me, need to get off the road."

"But...are you gonna, uh…"

"Am I gonna what?"

They came to a brief halt after successfully crossing the road. When Hyunjin didn't say anything and just continued to huddle in the wind, uncertainty flitting across glazed eyes, it finally dawned on Jisung. 

"Am I gonna take you somewhere and fuck you until you can't walk and then throw a pile of cash at you and leave, is that what you're asking?"

The words ricocheted off Hyunjin’s face, slashing him painfully. Because yeah. That was basically it. And how could he?

Jisung inched closer, slipping his scarf off and wrapping it around his neck with a sigh.

"It was only to get you out of that guy's claws."

"I know, I…didn't think anything else," Hyunjin claimed, because he had to. Jisung took the opportunity to give him a gentle shove towards the car, expression back to determined.

"Yeah, you did, didn't you. Even after all this time. And it's alright, I get it, even though I'm fucking pissed at you for taking off like that and not answering."

"I'm sorry—"

"I know." He nodded to emphasize it, tone lowering to atypically grave. "I know you are. But telling me not to worry and then turn unresponsive for days, really, Hyunjin? When you left you were a mess and it's been raining all week and I had no idea if you were okay. You think that's fair?"

There was a very brief pause that allowed the underlying message to sink in. Which it did, oh it did. Hyunjin's eyes were glued to the wet asphalt between them, and it was clear as day to him. There was nothing fair about it. 

"No," he dared to mumble. Jisung features, previously nothing short of hardened steel, softened somewhat. 

"Listen. I know you're scared. I know you think that I'm better off without you, but no. You're wrong, so fucking wrong. I've been so worried, and here you are now, _drunk..._ " He resumed nudging Hyunjin towards the car door, the pent up concern bleeding through as he continued. "...and I mean fuck, that guy appeared nicer than that cretin who beat you up, but you don’t seem to understand how badly you could have been taken advantage of in this situation.”

Shame, snot and unuttered apologies clogged Hyunjin's airways. 

Jisung was mad at him. Well, jesus, or course he was. Overcome with a need to explain, as fast as possible, he dug heels into the ground, wincing when a brief wrestling match ensued.

 _“Please,_ just get in —”

"Yeah, but wait, Jisung, listen," he begged, "The thing is...that guy offered me such a huge amount of money that I couldn't pass on it, okay, like...enough to pay off my debt, and I really didn't want to and I was about to call it off, you have to _believe_ me —”

Soon he didn't know what he was saying anymore. All that came out were isolated words, the most repeated one of them being _sorry,_ as usual. He didn't hear Jisung's requests for him to slow down, not until he was cut off. Hands shook him and the face he'd missed so much was suddenly a few inches from him, contours clear against the blurred backdrop. 

" _Hey_. What _debt?"_

Hyunjin stared indifferently, while his heart shuttled all the way into his throat.

Because he hadn't told Jisung that part yet.

Because he’d told him nothing, even though he'd promised. Because he'd done none of the things he promised.

" _Fuck_ —”

Pure, ugly devastation washed over him. But Jisung didn't stick around to just let him have a meltdown in front of the bouncer, who was casting them suspicious glances as it was. Hyunjin didn't see where he was stepping, all he knew was that he was moving and a voice told him to watch his head and that a seatbelt was pulled on him and that the seats were invitingly soft below him. 

Jisung pumped the gas. And after a little while, Hyunjin braved a look at him, only to be greeted with an incredulously quirked eyebrow.

“What’s with the paint on your face?”

“Oh, it’s uh...just, for work, I was supposed to be a...nevermind, where are we going?”

"To talk and get you cleaned up."

Maybe if Hyunjin wouldn't be stuck in the dull grasp of alcohol, he'd interpreted that line correctly; spoken tenderly and not nearly as intimidating as it sounded. But now the intonation just flew past him. _Talk._ He didn't want to talk, talk would just lead to Jisung despising him even more.

He didn't notice himself leaning forward to muffle a quiet sob with his palms, not until he was interrupted.

"It's okay. Relax baby."

Jisung held onto his hand, the other one on the wheel as he steadily maneuvered them to wherever they were headed. Hyunjin let his head rest against the window, watching the masses of people and flashing billboards rush past with half-lidded eyes.

"Nothing is okay."

"Yeah," Jisung seconded with a sad shrug. "But it will be."

* * *

Half an hour later, they were safely indoors. But not at Jisung’s place, but in a fancy hotel room in the very core of the city, because once Hyunjin had sobered up a little, the objections had started. Something about _having to go to a hotel_ because _that’s where my boss_ _thinks I'm headed._

And he’d expected to be thoroughly questioned on why exactly that was any of Mr Park’s business — but Jisung didn’t even comment on it. All he’d done was a quick u-turn; checked them in, and escorted Hyunjin to the seventh floor without a word. And now here he was. Surrounded by landscape paintings and seated on lush satin sheets on yet another king size bed.

But he felt like he’d fought a couple wars, and judging from the worried glances Jisung sent him, he looked it, too. He’d been asked if he was okay, but no, not even remotely. Sweaty, clammy, but at the same time freezing, bare arms knotting even in room temperature.

"So who do you owe exactly?"

When he was yanked back from his almost-slumber, Jisung was hunched down in front of him and peering up at him expectantly. There was no energy to conjure any fabricated half-truths, so the raw, unadulterated one had to do. And he deserved it, anyway.

"My boss,” he said flatly, hating every second of what he was about to do. “When I was arrested for drug possession, he paid my bail. It was a fucking lot, but he had contacts within the police force too. He pulled some strings, and voila. No trial. If it wasn't for him I'd probably be in jail.” 

At this fact, he could do nothing but snort bitterly. At all the wrong turns, the ever-growing pile of them that was his life.

"There's so much you don't know, Jisung...I owe him. He basically owns me."

He couldn’t actually see Jisung at the moment, just his hands as they rested in his lap, playing with his fingers. And hear him as he opposed that statement with a persistent _no_ and his name, willing him to shift his gaze to his face. And when he did, another spurt of laughter threatened to erupt — because he looked so laughable blasé, like Hyunjin had just revealed his preference in ice cream and not one of his biggest, dirtiest secrets.

"Will you let me pay it?"

Jisung peeked up at him, with that adoring glimmer in the beady eyes, lips caught in a half-smile. And Hyunjin expected someone to appear and yell _surprise, this is a sick joke._ But no one did. There was only the two of them, plus the shock of what had just been said.

"What the _hell_ are you...why?" Now he was _actually_ laughing, not to mention almost choking as he tried to form the correct words. "After all this shit, man, why would you even...you must _hate_ me at this point, _why would you_ —”

“Shush.”

Jisung's arms slipped behind his back, holding him securely, his chin tilted upwards.

"I don't hate you. I love you."

For the second time this evening, Hyunjin was sure he grossly misheard. But while he remained utterly nonplussed, Jisung took the opportunity to crawl up next to him. There, he started pulling him in, bit by bit, ignoring the slew of protests and hands pawing at his chest to keep him away.

 _"Jisung_ —”

_"Stop it…"_

"No, no, because don't say that to me if you don't mean it, okay, don’t _do_ that to me, don't mess with me, because _I can't take it_ —”

But all of it was parried, cracks in his voice drowned out as Jisung slithered into his personal bubble again, getting closer, closer, too close. Until he was so close that rich brown locks brushed against Hyunjin’s face and pleasantly warm breaths fanned his cheek.

"I love you."

He spoke it with lips on his jugular, on his frozen cheekbone, and finally, into his mouth, defrosting him a little with each one. Because it was too tender, too earnest to be passed off as fakery. By the time he managed to parrot it back, he was crying, and Jisung had planted a little squishy bundle of warmth somewhere inside his ribcage.

Pulsating, real and near-impossible to remove. And like that, the world was a little brighter, the air a little easier to breathe. 

Because Jisung _loved_ him. 

Loved him. _Love you._ Love you, love you, love you, _love._


	11. frost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy!
> 
> I was pretty burnt out and in need of a break from ao3 before xmas, but now I'm bacccc
> 
> So, this chapter was supposed to be a kind of short interlude, but it appears I'm absolutely incapable of writing anything short and non-slowburny so here we are asjfhsjd  
> This is a behemoth of a chap so excuse typos that most likely crept in
> 
> ALSO; warning! At the beginning of this chapter, there is a segment with some descriptions of violence and (failed) assault + some slurs scattered about. Nothing overly explicit, but do take care 
> 
> I hope you're all doing well and staying healthy ♡ always love to hear what you think and thank you sm for your love and support on this fic ♡
> 
> PS I will probably be transfering this fic to my main account [Takykardi] at some point so if the author suddenly changes, that's why [done]

_Outskirts of Seoul, three years ago_

_It always seemed to be Hyunjin who ended up in these situations. He knew a large network of loose acquaintances caught up in the same line of business — either by choice or circumstance — and more than often, he found himself jealous of them. Jealous when he listened to stories about sympathetic middle-aged men with exemplary hygiene, quaint motel rooms and friendly small talk. It’s not like he didn’t manage to score himself one of those occasionally, too. But mostly he seemed to attract nothing but vermin, spindly-legged roaches crawling out of hiding as dusk fell for a good, cheap time._

_Maybe it was his sedate disposition, maybe it was his face, pillowy lips and Bambi eyes, that made predators see him as easy prey. Whatever the reason, it wasn't the first time he'd landed himself in a scenario like this._

_Only some fifteen minutes ago, the bull-necked and leather-clad aspiring customer had given him at least the bare minimum of respect when crowding him and presenting his garbled request. The nauseating_ _whiff of whisky and cigarettes had assailed his nostrils when the man wobbled way too close, so_ _the reply had been a curt — but polite — no. But now, he wished to god he’d just said yes to that fucking blowjob. Why didn’t he just do it, it would be over already._

_The alley reeked of urine, empty beer cans and decaying food. Walls splashed with graffiti closed in tight to form a dead end, just one of many in this part of town. A muscled pair of arms pinned him against the tile wall, strained breaths coming in heaves behind him, inches from his neck. Everything was in tatters; both he and the army green coat on the ground, peeled off him just a moment ago. Now, he shivered in the late October evening in nothing but a t-shirt, seconds from being forced into whatever._

_Seconds. He could feel them, callous fingers reaching around his waist and digging into the juts of his hip bones. Three AM on a Tuesday night, early winter, not a single soul in sight. No one would hear him scream._

_“I said get off,” he growled for what must be the tenth time, well, tried — but it just came out a pathetic whine. The more he wiggled, the more the bruising grip on his arms and waist tightened._

_"I'll have fun with you," came the eerily disturbing announcement. A hand moved to knead his ass, the other struggling to pull his belt out of its loops. He stiffened, a twinge of panic surging through his body. Thanks to the unexpected burst of adrenaline, he managed to wring himself around and spit; a thick gob right into the guy’s mug. He faltered, watery eyes expressing momentary shock._

_“The fuck did you just do —"_

_“Sorry, I’m sorry, just let me go, please —"_

_The appalling noise of a fist meeting skin bounced off the walls. Hyunjin felt himself crumple to the ground in a heap of limbs, barely having time to register what just happened before a foot came forward to kick him in the stomach. The pain shot through his ribcage, and with arms clutching his midsection, he realized a bone just cracked. Maybe even two. There was no way he'd afford to get it fixed, fuck —_

_The stranger spoke again from above him, tone drenched in utter disgust._

_“Jesus, think you’re too good for me, huh?_

_The small space filled with sinister laughter, followed by another kick, this one against the base of his spine. “Well? Answer me, useless whore.”_

_But he couldn’t. Blood coated his gums, welling up from within and running down his chin, and nothing but shallow gurgling emerged. Silently, he wished for the guy to beat him to a pulp in favor of the alternative; drag him off to somewhere and intrude without permission. He lay curled into a fetal position, silent and still after being kicked into submission, newly bleached strands of hair touching the soggy ground beneath him. Time moved excruciatingly slowly while he just waited for his fate to be determined, but after a long lapse of silence he could hear a grunt and a cigarette being lit above him._

_“Not even worth it.”_

_Steel-toed boots turned on their heels eventually, the butt landing just in front of his face, and then he was alone._

_When he finally was able to work himself into sitting, a good fifteen minutes had passed. The night was tinted with frost, the streetlight casting a sickly light on the area. Dawn waited somewhere in the distant future, too many hours away._

_Every cell of his body wailed in protest when he tried to move his torso, and he didn’t even need a mirror to figure out the state of his face. Split lip, maybe black eye, chin caked in blood. Wheezing, he lowered himself down until he could reach his coat, grab his phone, and flip through the contacts with blood-stained fingertips._

_He called every single one of them, but the signals passed uselessly until it directed to voicemail, just like expected. These guys were always shitfaced and floating around in another galaxy at this time of night, on any given day of the week._

_“Fuckers,” he sobbed. His phone landed in the mud, and the tears unleashed like an avalanche, sending another cluster of pain through his ribs. But what the hell would it help to cry. After a while of just hating life and every single person in it, he had to pull himself together and acknowledge that he wouldn't make it out of here by himself._

_Sliding through the goop again like a worm, he gripped the phone, and dialed. The very last person on his list._

_He picked up on the third ring, voice velvety smooth as always._

_“Well hey there, sweet boy. Kinda late to call. Miss me?”_

_Hyunjin kept the phone slotted between his chin and shoulder, taking a moment to peer up at the starless sky. It expanded into infinity, just like his existence. No beginning, no end in sight. If only the universe could provide him some reason_ _to keep going, something else than the innate desire to survive. Each day drained the life out of him, washed him out just a little more until he all but vanished into the walls of the buildings he spent his days leaning against. Until he was nothing but a fleeting ghost doomed to navigate the same old streets endlessly, unseen, unheard._

_He felt the blood running down his throat and back where it came from, slimy and tinted with metal. This would be a pretty disgusting way to go, succumbing to hypothermia and infection next to a trashcan stuffed to the brim with smelly leftovers from the restaurant next door. Fuck that._

_An impatient utter of his name sounded below him. After spitting fresh lumps of red-colored bile on the ground, he gripped the phone tighter, hoping that this would be the last time he'd have to resort to his help, but knowing it wouldn't be._

_“Hey, uh, Mr Park...I’m really sorry to disturb you sir, but do you think you could take me to the hospital, I think I have a broken rib.”_

* * *

Waking up with Hyunjin in a lavish hotel bed was definitely high up on Jisung’s bucket list, but he hadn't expected it to happen under these dire circumstances. Next to him, Hyunjin remained asleep, limbs languidly folded together to keep warm despite the heated double comforter draped over him. The cream curtains were still tightly drawn, allowing only the faintest string of spring sunlight in through the tiny gap.

Yesterday did make its presence known, shattering the tranquil scenery somewhat. A pair of leather pants were thrown over one of the tufted armchairs, mud-stained doc martens scattered on the hand-woven rug, a trail of gravel leading from them to the door. The room bathed in a peaceful silence now, but it was a stark contrast to last night. 

It was late _—_ probably around two AM _—_ when Jisung had finally been able to whisk him into the shower. He’d peeled off the tape plastered to his chest, washed the melting black paint and all the makeup residue off to reveal a clean canvas. Afterwards, he could see the last five days imprinted on his face clearly; the dark circles and the unhealthy pallor of his skin, the sunken cheeks and chapped lips. 

He’d asked him gently, while blanketing him with one of the lush towels supplied by the hotel, what he’d been _doing —_ and once he did, it was like a cap was unscrewed. Maybe because he felt safe enough to talk, or maybe because of the inebriation, or both. But he'd talked.

Words had poured out of him, disjointed and difficult to arrange into a timeline Jisung could make sense of. The last few day’s insomnia, shame and confusion were mentioned, but the tale spanned even further back than that. It was obvious he was so, so relieved to finally let it out, to tell someone. So Jisung just let him ramble while he dried him off, until he was completely emptied and all the memories had dislodged from his brain.

He still saw the same person, but he also saw a completely new dimension of him; filled with looming figures with bad intentions and drug-fueled parties and gang violence and wrong turns. He saw Hyunjin roaming the city, lost in a maze, he saw him snorting coke off filthy counters in public bathrooms and running through dirty alleys, blacking out on sticky floors in underground clubs and being thrown in holding cells by rough hands. It was difficult to imagine that this was that same person, the same boy with tinkling laughter and a love for all things sweet, like melona and sappy k-dramas and cat videos. His Hyunjin, who’d lived in a state of constant emotional havoc wreaked by cycles of abuse, and Jisung didn’t even know half of it. The tidbits he did know were enough to make his heart weep; fat, fat but useless tears for his sake.

"I thought we were done, you and me," was the last thing Hyunjin had said before he snuggled up in the king size bed and drifted off. "I wanted to respond, but I'm a coward. I thought I was doing you a favor.”

 _No, no, not a coward, but_ _not doing me any favors either,_ Jisung had repeated, for what must be the hundreth time now. It never stuck.

He didn’t get to see his bucket list fantasy fulfilled, at least not today. Didn’t get to witness Hynjin’s sleep-puffed lips stretch into a smile the moment he lay eyes on him. Instead, he realized he was silently muttering something, arms rigidly clenched around the pillow.

“Baby…” He dug him out from the prison of fabrics he’d tangled himself into, mindful not to startle him awake. “Jinnie...wake up. You’re dreaming again.”

His eyes flew open after a few seconds of nudging, and his hand flew to seize Jisung’s wrist. It stopped mid air, restrained by long, taut fingers.

" _What_ _—_ where the fuck am I _—"_

"Relax, relax. It's just me. Just me. You’re at the Four seasons in Jongno, tenth floor."

Jisung let the words sink in, allowing him to blink and focus on his face. Eventually, he could see yesterday’s recollections filling the empty stare, coloring his irises a deeper brown. The fingers around his wrist loosened their hold, falling down on the sheet next to him.

"Right. Right...shit."

"Hungover?"

"Just a little bit."

He curled into himself again after the brief exchange, providing only apathetic one-word replies to all of Jisung’s questions. If he had a headache _(kinda)_ , if he was sore anywhere else _(kinda)_ and what he’d dreamt about _(nothing)_. So Jisung didn't push (yet), just petted his hair and inched closer. Slowly, slowly _—_ until he was able to cross his carefully monitored borders again.

"I missed you."

It took a few tries before he got a dry-throathed _missed you too_ back. But Hyunjin couldn’t hide the overbearing guilt, because how paradoxical wasn’t that claim, after so many days of ignored messages. Still, Jisung’s lips on his were familiar, hesitant and fumbly at first, but reassuring once he let himself melt into it, feeling his pulse and his heart beating close again.

It wasn’t until then, that he really realized. How tall and wide the hollow space within him really stretched, whenever Jisung wasn’t near.

Breakfast was ordered, as if this was just a regular day. And Jisung wanted it to be just that, to obtain some semblance of normalcy again after all the chaos. While they waited he fed Hyunjin painkillers, watched him crack his knuckles and roll his shoulders, stiff as always. He considered asking him if he’d danced too furiously or something, or what the hell he’d been up to at the strip club _—_ but decided it be best not to. 

He felt like they were estranged lovers reuniting after years, even though it had only been six days. All this grandeur surrounded them; sleek furniture designed by people whose names he couldn’t even pronounce, tall windows with a wide view of the city and the cloud-covered mountains in the far horizon. It felt like a bizarre setting to discuss the topics he was about to breach. But he _was_ set on it, and when they both were equipped with cups of espresso and plates of scrambled eggs, he did.

"So...about yesterday."

"So it really happened, huh," Hyunjin muttered dejectedly. He sounded like he was about to get a bullet in his brain any second, and Jisung was the firing squad. "I really told you all of that, it wasn't just some gruesome nightmare.”

"You...no. You did. And I'm glad you finally did, because it was long overdue."

Hyunjin didn't look even remotely convinced. He’d probably take it all back if he could, but then they’d be back at square one again. Nothing would progress, and he’d remain an eternal unsolved mystery, forever lost to everyone.

"Jisung. I need you to know something _—"_

Jisung’s ears perked in surprise at the grave tone. He’d figured this would be a pretty one-sided discussion, but apparently not. So he just waited, sensing how the air was suddenly as thick as the cooling oatmeal in the bowl next to him. Hyunjin coughed a few times, forcing his rickety morning voice to carry.

"The thing is, back when I was, uh...doing all the stuff I told you about, I didn't use to see any kind of future for myself. I wasn't in a good place when it happened, I'd run away from foster care and I was struggling financially and I had no idea what I was doing. I missed my mom and sister every single second of the day, and...I didn't have anyone. And these people I talked about were just… _”_

He faded, staring down in his lap. Tried to find justifications, recalling relentlessly cold nights and the temporary relief that an artificial high could bring.

 _“...there_ ,” he decided simply. “And coke and booze was there, and I know it’s not a good reason but it made it easier to cope with reality. And I didn't care what happened to me, back then. I just wanted to...escape. Anywhere.”

His eyes shut as he recalled it; so many close calls, so many rock bottoms. Jisung watched the despair nip and tug at his pastel skin, and pushed closer until he'd infiltrated his side of the bed. He encased his wrists to keep him from nervously scratching and tearing at himself, hushed him when a sob wrenched its way out of his throat.

"I'm not trying to make up excuses you know _—"_

" _No_ , no. I know. It's all...shit. I can't even imagine. And I'm sorry your life got off to such a bad start. Sorry, baby."

It all fell so short, but there was nothing else he could say. Couldn't hop in a time machine and force their paths to cross earlier, couldn’t undo any of it. Before starting again, he ushered a glass of orange juice on him, figured he could do with a blood sugar spike.

"You...yesterday you talked about your boss, and how he basically helped you avoid jail."

Hyunjin stared dully ahead, memories Jisung couldn't see slithering into his brain like cunning snakes. "Mr Park."

"Yeah. How did you two meet exactly?"

 _Do you really want to know._ That's what he wanted to ask, but didn’t. Jisung knew what he signed up for, so what was the point in sugar coating anything.

"I sucked him off one night some years ago, and he took a liking to me. Then we did that on and off...I blew him, he paid me, occasionally he helped me with some stuff in exchange for...well. You can probably figure out what. And...yeah."

It physically hurt him to say it, still. Jisung shivered when he saw him glance sideways, eyes like black chasms, jaw tensed. Like he was just waiting for him to gasp in horror. Which he didn't, and never would.

"Alright,” he replied, still the epitome of calm and collected. “But after everything you've told me about him...he seems like a monumental asshole, so why would you _—"_

Before he could backtrack, he was silenced by a snort. A sardonic, impactful snort that drove a wedge between them again, the cue signaling that Hyunjin had just been reminded they came from different parts of town. Different universes, even.

"You think I had a choice?"

Outside the day was in full swing, the scorching sun beating down from a periwinkle blue sky, people going about their business, continuing forward. But in here, they needed to reverse. Jisung wasn’t sure if the question warranted an answer, but he gave one anyway. A regretful _no,_ met by the tiniest nod.

"Society didn’t see me, my old foster parents and my dad wanted nothing to do with me, and no one wanted to employ a runaway without any qualifications. It’s not like I didn’t try. But at some point I stopped trying, I didn’t have a choice anymore, I didn’t give a _shit_ anymore."

His voice climbed, breaking at the seams. But this is what Jisung had been fishing for, anyway. He needed him angry, so he could cough up all the filthy sewage water clogging his lungs and finally breathe easier. So he shut it, and just listened, watched him run nails over his scalp and stagger onward.

"Not giving a shit isn't great, you lose all judgement and you become reckless. When our sleeping quarters got raided there was a shitload of illegal street drugs in my close proximity. They weren’t mine, they were my friend's, but do you think cops cared about that?" He laughed, that bitter, hollow laugh Jisung hated. "Nah, they hated me, especially this one really nasty officer, always looking for reasons to arrest me. I’d landed myself a few years unless Mr Park had interfered. Influential guy, he has contacts everywhere, and he's no saint, but at least he didn't beat me, at least he didn't force himself on me, at least he didn't _—"_

He shrugged, appearing to be talking mostly to himself at this point. Studying the dirt underneath his fingernails, falling into his own little section of hell.

"But you know, maybe jail is what I'd deserved,” he said flatly. “For selling myself in street corners and numbing myself with chemicals like the scum of the earth. The fuck do I care anyway, maybe I should rot in there.”

Jisung shook his head fervently, _no, no, no_ _—_ but Hyunjin couldn't see it at the moment, with his vision clouded by the past. They'd reached the final destination _—_ he was angry. Pissed, at the whole world collectively. Maybe at Jisung too; he couldn't really tell.

"Don't think i wanted this guy's help, I didn’t. I didn't _want_ to have to rely on him, but you know, beggars can't be choosers. When you haven’t eaten for a week or the temperature drops below zero and your cranium is about to split in half from the cold, you kinda reshuffle your priorities a bit. _Just a bit._ Not to mention some people who buy sex are respectful, but some _aren't."_

His words were a honed knife slicing through Jisung, sizzling and leaving fried bits of flesh in its wake. He'd turned back to him now. The tears came, wiped away by his bathrobe sleeve.

 _"..._ some are capable of killing you, and there's very few who wanna help a street whore."

"Don't call yourself that." 

The anger ebbed, replaced by sadness, downcast eyes letting Jisung know; _I can't help it._ And he knew he couldn't. Couldn't help but call himself the vilest of terms, _useless_ and _dirty_ and a _fuckup._ He knew he had to voice it, but it hurt so much. With lone tears swirling down his own cheeks, he begged him to stop _,_ which he did, falling silent while he cried in his arms.

Eventually Jisung coaxed his limp body down, settling him to rest against his chest and pulling the comforter over both of them. This guy Mr Park seemed like a piece of work. He really wondered if Hyunjin had some kind of Stockholm syndrome situation going on with him; wondered if he was too far gone to even recognize manipulative behavior at this point. If he did, Jisung's main priority was to get him away from him; from all of it. If he’d just let him.

"You won't have to put up with him or any of it for much longer," he mumbled, his hand roaming and finding Hyunjin's before he could slip away. "I'll help you, and you don't owe me shit afterwards. I'm doing it because I love you and because you deserve so much more than what you were handed." 

While Hyunjin nodded and sniffled, Jisung informed him of what would happen next. Bring the money to his boss next week, pay him off, and then he could keep working there or do whatever the hell he wanted. Be free. Hyunjin just made an affirmative noise in his throat, but it sounded very reluctant. Jisung took the opportunity to cup his chin and lean forward to kiss him before his mind could start wandering.

"Upside down kiss," he grinned after separating them, pleased to see him looking rosy-cheeked and positively taken aback.

"That's a first…"

"But not the last. We'll figure this all out. Don't worry about anything."

He settled back against the headboard, finger-combing Hyunjin's hair while he took a nap. Honestly, he didn't want Monday to come. Because on Monday he wanted both of them back in his apartment again, wanted Hyunjin reunited with his books and his dramas and his melon pajamas.

Jisung's Infatuation had developed from a tiny seed into a whole rainforest. But he’d learnt by now. Reality was a fickle thing, capable of bringing anything and everything with tomorrow. Always taunting him with a mocking grin, threatening to tear every radiant plant and life-bearing tree down every time they had a chance to grow _—_ but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that the roots always remained intact.

* * *

“So you guys talked?"

“Yeah...we did."

Later the same evening _—_ after they'd ventured outside for a brief walk around the block and Hyunjin finally looked like a person instead of a wreck again _—_ Jisung paced the rug, with Chris on the line.

"Way to go Jisung."

"Honestly…" 

He shot a glance to the bathroom. Before continuing, he moved to the other end of the spacious room, so Hyunjin wouldn't be able to overhear him "...honestly Chris, thanks for kicking my ass into gear. I don't think I would have gone to try to talk to him yesterday if it wasn't for you."

It was true. He’d sulked all week, and Chris was the one who'd told him to stop weeping and go find his boy. Now, his response was overruled, by some unidentified ruckus in the background. It was muffled, but the high-pitched squeals were easily recognizable.

"Is that _—_ Minho? What's he singing?"

His inquiry was cut short by a crash and a series of thuds _—_ which he assumed must be the sound of Chris dropping the phone and rushing to interfere with whatever situation was currently unfolding.

_"Minho! My mom gave me that buddha statue!"_

_"Sorry! I'm just happy for the little chipmunk’s sake!"_

Jisung waited patiently while Chris handed Minho's ass to him. He returned to the phone eventually, after a good three minutes of nearly busting a lung.

"Sorry about that, jesus. Yeah, Minho is here and he knocked my buddha over with his fat ass. Anyway, so what happens now?"

"Well, uh, it's complicated _—_ ”

He was about to let Chris in on snippets of what Hyunjin had told him _—_ but then his attention happened to land on something on the floor in front of the bed. Hyunjin's backpack, wide open. A pack of condoms and what looked like a bottle of lube lay on top the rolled up shirts and pants.

Condoms. Lube. Precautions. Which was good and all, but...

He stared at them, his heart lurching into his throat. Unless he'd stopped him, Hyunjin might have woken up in that rich, anonymous guy's bed this morning. He'd claimed he was about to call it off, but a part of Jisung still squirmed in disbelief.

"Jisung?"

"I gotta go, okay, sorry. I'll tell you later yeah?"

After hanging up he stuck his head into the bathroom, lighting up instantly when he saw Hyunjin. He was practically bouncing up and down in excitement, his finger pointed to the marble-coated hot tub and a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.

"What are you mumbling about in here?"

"I was just saying there's a hot tub!"

"Oh, yeah, there is," Jisung hummed in amusement. Leaning against the door frame, he gingerly watched him rinse his mouth and attempt to tame the shoulder-length tangles of hair. It mostly failed.

“This is starting to resemble absolute shit. Look at these roots.”

Jisung tilted his head, doing just that. And as usual, he passionately disagreed. He studied the brown strands seeking to mingle with the blonde, and found himself picturing him with a head full of glossy, naturally dark hair. Dark, light, everything suited him, but then again, he was biased. He'd love him bald, or with a pink mohawk, a wig made from hay _—_ anything.

“I'm looking. Do you wanna bleach it again?”

Hyunjin inspected his own reflection critically. He swiped the blanket of hair to the left, swiped it to the right. And pouted, when it didn't want to behave.

“Not really. I like it, customers love it, but it's such a hassle."

“Then don't. It's like an ombre now, looks pretty.”

Hyunjin offered a genuine, dimpled smile in return. Jisung was about to continue on that note, but it was interrupted by a low rumble. As he patted the culprit _—_ his tummy _—_ he was struck by an idea.

“Yup, that was me. Do you wanna go down to the restaurant to eat? You must be starving too, you didn't eat much earlier."

There was an initial positive reaction, a dithering _maybe_ _—_ but then Hyunjin's eyes dropped to his chest, to the black, washed out t-shirt he wore so often. It was age-old, handed out free at a _Shinee_ concert way, way back, featuring a peeling print of the members. He vividly recalled the day, the welcoming change that live music brought to the daily hustle. But even though it held sentimental value, it wasn't fit for a restaurant at a hotel like this.

“Meh, I don't know. All my fancy clothes are at your place, and it’s probably so damn high end."

“You'd look good in any old trash," Jisung stated diplomatically. He snuck up to him, fingers traveling under the hem of his shirt, and continued the shower of compliments until he was semi-convinced. "Let’s go, who the hell cares about dress codes.”

So they did. Hyunjin tied a sloppy five second ponytail and Jisung discarded his midnight blue button down in favor of a plain t-shirt. Then, he ushered Hyunjin outside before he could change his mind again, because he was right. The Italian-style restaurant downstairs _was_ pretty damn high end, with luscious oak interior, massive chandeliers and live jazz classics playing in the background.

Heads turned their way as they strode in, ladies and gents dressed in the finest of designer brands pausing their wine-sipping to gawk at the intruders. But Jisung gave no fucks about this fact. 

After they'd navigated to the nearest free table, a stiff-lipped waiter with a bushy moustache appeared next to them nearly instantly. He couldn't have been more blatantly disapproving of their attire if he tried. Especially Hyunjin's, it seemed, who felt like becoming part of the chair after receiving just a couple of his dirty glances. It was enough to make Jisung boil, but he just settled for smiling sweetly, completely unfazed by the awkward atmosphere.

"Evening. Could we have a look at the menu, please."

The waiter countered him with the most condescending smile known to man, which he’d expected anyway. "I'm terribly sorry, but we're actually pretty busy tonight, so I will unfortunately have to ask you to _—"_

He halted mid sentence, looking almost laughably floored. Jisung had just fished out his black (and incredibly elusive and hard to attain) visa card and slapped it on the table. Leaning back in his chair, he pressed his fingertips together in cool indifference. 

"I'll try again. Menu, please. And a bottle of red wine while we look at it."

Hyunjin peeked at him, then at the waiter, and then back at Jisung again. The waiter did the same, opening and closing his mouth until he finally appeared to reach a conclusion. This snot-nosed kid was a potential goldmine.

“What wine would be to your liking, young sir? I have a lovely pinot noir with sublime notes of lead shavings and dark cherry that goes impeccably well with _—”_

“Couldn’t care less about sublime notes of dog shit and cat piss, just bring your priciest bottle. Thanks a bunch.”

Jisung finished it off with another syrupy smile and flap of his lashes. Hyunjin sat straight up at his end of the table, twiddling his thumbs, while the waiter looked more and more like he flat out regretted even driving to work today.

"Certainly, sir,” he chirped finally. “I will do my best to attend to all your needs. Coming right up, and do let me know if you want tonight's recommendations."

He scuttled off as fast as he'd appeared. Jisung looked at him go, tutting and spreading out in the chair like he owned the place. Which he kind of did, because he could probably buy this whole restaurant with a tenth of the money he had in his bank account right now. But it’s not like he was about to inform Hyunjin of that.

"Huh, look at that,” he hummed instead. “So keen on kissing my ass all of a sudden, wasn't that cute?"

Hyunjin just smirked, simultaneously amused and slightly stunned by what had just gone down.

“You just love doing that, don’t you?" 

“Do I love using a piece of plastic to force judgemental fucks to be nice and polite to you like you deserve?" Jisung scratched his chin, pretending to ruminate. "Let me see...yeah, yup. Love it."

Even in the dimmed light, he could see Hyunjins eyes shining with affection, but also obvious confliction. He didn’t put up a fight when the four course menu was ordered, but he could read it in his hunched shoulders and reserved stance. That all of this was challenging for him, and it worried Jisung. Worried him because he didn’t want him to find any reasons to take a hike again.

After the waiter had disappeared, he reached over the table and lowered his voice.

"Look, Hyunjin...I know this is probably like a confusing whirlwind for you. You've been out on the street for days again and now suddenly you're...here…" He let a hand swipe over the vast space, over the polished floors and the grand piano in the corner. "...bathing in luxury. And I can't relate to how that feels and I hate that."

Hyunjin hesitated, but Jisung encouraged him with subtle nods. The rest of the restaurants occupants had stopped ogling them now, at least. Lucky for them.

"It's a bit of a transition, yeah," he squeezed out at last, smiling apologetically. And he didn’t have to, he really didn’t. He’d apologized enough for a lifetime.

"I get it," Jisung said sincerely, moving even closer. "And I know you're scared as ever and that you feel like the vulnerable, inferior one in this...relationship. But you're not, and I just want you to enjoy yourself, for once. Without having to worry about always pleasing someone else. And uh…”

He played vacantly with his fingers, relieved when they played back. 

"...I just want to be your boyfriend. Simple as that. If you want to be mine."

Hyujin raised his chin finally, feeling the low susurrating around them fading to nothingness. _Jisung wanted him_. Even after all the revelations and irate behavior and all of it. He pushed away the fears, tasting the word. _Boyfriend._ It felt alien but so right, so he nodded, nodded and nodded, and Jisung kissed him until his bottom lip swelled, in front of the whole restaurant.

He felt like they were on the same page now, both of them looking equally misplaced with unstyled hair and wrinkly t-shirts. They caroused merrily for once without any time constraints or other pesky circumstances weighting them down, chewing through various dishes and the bottle of wine. Jisung had forgotten Hyunjin wasn’t a big fan, but once he saw him scrunch his nose cutely after taking a sip, it didn't take long to rectify. The waiter materialized at the snap of his fingers, ready with another round of _certainly, sir_ when he requested a Bacardi breezer for his company.

Once back upstairs again, Jisung decided to just continue on that note, which translated into going haywire on room service. Bottle of champagne, chocolate fondue fountain, strawberries and _two_ bottles of whipped cream were just a few of the items on the long list, just as another monumental _screw you_ to whomever dared stare disapprovingly at them. 

Hyunjin watched in his usual wide-eyed, flustered disbelief as it was wheeled in. Jisung was grateful that he just let him shower him with everything he came to think of at the moment, including a glass of moët. Not to make him smashed beyond belief or anything; yesterday had been wet enough. Just...pleasantly tingly.

“This is all very...romantic and clichéd somehow,” Hyunjin commented after he’d crawled to bed, occupying the empty slot next to Jisung. “I didn't even know you could get a chocolate fondue tower delivered to your room."

“You can get pretty much anything delivered to your room here. Think the fondue and strawbs are a bit overkill?”

“Maybe just a little," Hyunjin snorted. "And no one calls it strawbs.”

“Now they do. Here, allow me to feed you a strawb."

He was granted his wish, and Hyunjin’s pink lips ended up an even richer shade of red as result. While some mindless comedy played on the flatscreen TV, Jisung stole glances at him where he lay, buried in fluffy white cushions and with his long legs splayed out. It was safe to say he was much more interested in him than the movie. And quite possibly, he also imagined himself licking chocolate fondue off his toned stomach. Or licking whipped cream off his...well, basically off any part of him. 

Soon, after most of his blood had rushed south, certain parts of himself hardened. How _totally_ uncalled for, no one might have guessed. He hurried to throw the comforter over himself, before Hyunjin could realize anything fishy was going on down there.

The strawberries disappeared (and Jisung stubbornly continued calling them strawbs) until the gap between them had closed. Hyunjin’s sweatpant-clad thigh brushed against him, his head coming down to rest in the junction of his neck. Jisung inwardly purred, nuzzling into him and exhaling contently. This is how it should always be. They were too far up to be disturbed by the late night commotion, no sounds of noisy neighbors leaking through the walls. It was just them. 

It was past midnight when the credits rolled. Jisung reached for the remote, ready to ask if they should flip through Netflix in search for another one. But before he could, he felt fingers on his hand, pressing it down. Hyunjin had hauled himself into sitting, his expression shifty and unreadable.

"Maybe we could...go in the hot tub."

Jisubf felt his face heat up all the way down to his neck. The thought had occurred to him, but he'd batted away like an annoying fly every time it did. 

"You want to?"

Hyunjin nodded with hopeful, gleaming eyes. And who the hell was Jisung to say no.

They’d been stripped bare in front of each other so many times, but there was still an aura of unfamiliarity in the air, after so many nights spent apart. But it didn’t last. After Hyunjin had slid his t-shirt and pants off, Jisung raked eyes over the florets of blues and purples on his knees, wondering where they stemmed from. Maybe from grinding knees over the strip club floor. He outlined the faint scars spanning his chest, illuminated by the light beating down on them from above. _Pretty,_ he assured Hyunjin, when he closed arms around his midriff to shield himself. The never ending objections were ignored, and Jisung felt his quivering form finally settle as he looped arms around him and got up on his toes to kiss him. 

_Pretty_ , pretty, never anyone prettier.

“Never been in one of these,” Hyunjin announced once he'd been ushered into the inviting warmth of the tub. Jisung couldn’t say the same, as always.

“Never?"

“Never.”

Steam curled up from all sides, clinging to their skin. After some small talk, Jisung inconspicuously spread his arm out in invitation, hoping Hyunjin would slink closer to him. Which, he did, and so did his lips and all of him. He tasted like strawberries and sparkling wine, his breaths hot and damp and elevated. Spirals of wet hair tickled Jisung’s face, and Hyunjin fingers moved lower, ghosting over his chest on their way downward, and finally, over his crotch.

“I really want you, Jisung.”

Jisung retreated after the whispered words, feeling a burst of electricity rip through him. He fixed eyes on Hyunjin's face, the tendrils of water dripping from his nose, the nervous twitch of his lip.

“You mean you wanna _—"_

Hyunjin slid teeth over his lips, nodding. Well fuck.

“Are you sure?

"I'm _—_ yeah _—"_

"Because we can wait. You had a shit week, and I told you yesterday, that's not why I took you here, don't feel obligated or pressured into anything _—"_

“I'm not. Please, Jisung _._ I want you to f...I want you."

It was a low, desperate plea, and Jisung was in no fucking position to resist. Even if he’d wanted to, which he didn't.

He tightened his grip around Hyunjins waist, pressing their lips together, swallowing the little noises he made. Soon he was straddled across his lap, grinding down insistently until Jisung's hands strayed. Wherever they could reach, really, anywhere and everywhere, trailing down his abdomen to the underside of his thighs and reaching the seam of his ass. He stopped for a light but firm squeeze of his cheeks _—_ which only made Hyunjin groan and press himself flush against him.

Puddles of water coated the rug when they finally plunged out of the tub and landed in bed, closely entangled and not caring about towels. There was no need anyway, the sheets dried them off, and then Jisung sucked Hyunjin until he squirmed and panted and whined, pure filth about wanting him inside of him, right now.

“Ah shit, have no rubbers _—"_

Hyunjin mumbled that he did. Jisung had already managed to forget that little detail. 

"Always carry them with me, in case…you know."

"Sure, yeah...of course."

Jisung hovered over him after being handed one, light kisses pressed against the column of his throat and over the firm expanse of his chest. He felt absolutely delirious seeing him sprawled out underneath him like this, but they were at a _hotel._ How clichéd indeed. Hesitance took hold of him again. He wanted nothing more than to touch him; to feel soft skin dipping beneath his fingertips and to hear his moans spilling through the air again, but _—_

Should it really happen like this? A sober, internal voice told him to wait. Told him that Hyunjin was tipsy and still recovering from earlier, and maybe he thought he owed Jisung something when that wasn’t the case at all and _—_

He’d skidded to a full stop, but once he focused on the present, he saw Hyunjin staring. Saw his gaze traveling over his face with intense concentration, picking his intentions apart and gluing them back together. Before he could find his footing again, pools had already gathered in his eyes.

“We don't have to."

“No, listen _—"_

“Cause it’s okay if you changed your mind,“ Hyunjin keened, hands flying up to scrub at his face. "I understand if you don’t want, if you think I’m _—_ we don’t have to, cause I know that _—"_

“ _Listen_. I want it. You."

Jisung was so torn. So, so torn, but he cooed at him, thumbed away the stray tears. And yielded, when he was urged forward by eager hands and pleading eyes.

“I’ll take care of you, alright. I swear," he promised, and he'd never been so determined in his life, so certain. That he'd just disappear into thin air, crumble to dust in his hands if he even held him wrong.

He slicked his fingers up with lube, trailing a pattern down his inner thigh, willing him to part his legs. Hyunjin twitched in anticipation, craning his neck and feeling more exposed than ever as he drank up the face he knew. Dark eyes, eyes that looked at him with such adoration, full cheeks, soft locks, dainty lips. His body, so strong and so delicate all at the same time, making his blood run hot in his veins and his insides stir.

It had been _—_ how long? Maybe it was with Mr Park, he didn't remember, didn't give a shit about last time he let someone else in, no matter if he'd been present or floating around in space until it was over, because it had been nothing like this. This was different, so real and so meaningful it scared him shitless.

“Hey? Hyunjin."

Jisung had interrupted himself when he saw him looking all zonked out. He dragged himself towards him, arms on either side of his head, comforting smile in place. 

“This is okay, right?”

Hyunjin nodded slowly, eyes glinting dark. Honestly, he'd let him treat him however he wanted, but Jisung would never handle him with anything but feather light touches and murmured questions. Now, he watched him like a hawk for any signs of discomfort, frowning when he flinched at the cold liquid making contact with his rim. 

"Sorry, baby, sorry...I know it's cold."

"It's okay, it’s okay.”

Once he received permission to carry on, he did, impossibly slowly and with flawless control over every muscle.

“That feel good?”

"Yeah…"

Fingers teased over pulsing flesh, a second and a third added after a while, but he made sure to tell him he’d only have to say the word, or even just look slightly bored, and he'd stop. But he didn't, instead he felt him grow impatient, muscles contorting around him, small mewls turning into hoarse demands. But it wasn't until he reacted with bated breath to every single one of his touches, until he squirmed into the sheets to create more friction, that Jisung slid the condom on and settled between his legs, one hand wrapped around his thigh.

"I'll go slow," he whispered against his throat, aligning himself and pushing in after receiving a shaky nod. But it didn’t take long until there was a tiny whimper _—_ that Hyunjin tried his best to suppress _—_ and his face scrunched in pain. All movement seized instantly.

"Hurts?"

"No, or I _—_ just need a second _—_

Hyunjin had been here so many times in his fantasies, so many times it was bound to be anticlimactic, because reality was always a bit rough around the edges. Now that he was here, caged underneath Jisung and thrumming with need, the moment was almost too palpable, an organ beating all on its own, too loud and insistent. He clung to Jisungs neck, buried nose in the thick forest of hair.

"Please, please go on," he beseeched, hearing the wariness in his voice after he took a while to reply.

"You're really tense still...I don't wanna hurt you. It's not supposed to hurt. We can stop if you want."

 _"No_ _—_ no. I just _—_ I’m just nervous, I've been wanting this for so long, and _—_ I want it to be...perfect.”

There was a sigh, fingers tracing the outline of his lips.

"It's already perfect."

Hyunjin smiled under his finger, but whined the next moment when he suddenly clenched around nothing. He just wanted this so badly, but Jisung hushed him. Slowed him down, one hand wrapping around his shaft and the other resting on his chest, stilling the rapid rise and fall of his ribcage.

"Relax. It's just me. You and me."

He kissed him, until he felt taut muscles slackening and saw his chest rolling impatiently, only to finally abide to his polite, mumbled requests again. He eased into him, inch by inch, until he sank into the sheets, allowing him he to set a slow pace, every unhurried thrust calculated with perfect accuracy. 

But even as Hyunjin moaned softly, tears still glistened on his cheekbones, new ones trickling down ever so often. And Jisung had to ask. Even though his lips kissed him urgently and his voice traveled into his ears, husky and fragmented, he had to ask _—_

"Are you still okay? Please be honest with me.”

"I am. I am, I am, I'm good, go on, please."

Jisung snapped his hips, finding the little nub of flesh that made him gasp, felt him clench and unclench around him, his damp hair fanned out on the pillow like a halo. He curved around him with such graceful ease, fitting into his empty spaces, legs locked tight around his waist as he picked up the pace slowly, gradually. The warmth of his body and the sensation of feeling him so close was overwhelming, but he didn't want to lose himself in his high _—_ he wanted to stay right here. See him while he whispered sweet things into his mouth, about how he felt so good and how precious and important he was and how that would never fucking change, ever. 

He did, watching him unravel. Pulling back, he closed a fist around his shaft, making him whimper and unfold, the last bit of tension dissolving finally.

“I'm gonna come _—"_

“Go ahead baby..."

Shivers ran through Hyunjin like currents, slow and rippling as he spilled all over his own stomach. Black lashes tilted downward, sweet little moans slipping past his lips; breathless and stuttered. 

They didn’t talk after that. Jisung eventually with a low groan, still with the same calm determination, and stayed inside him afterwards _—_ just holding him and feeling his body quiver and spasm around him. He could have laid like that for longer, just breathing in sync with him, but the sudden lack of communication was a little concerning. After some mumbled reassurances, he pulled out and quietly cleaned him up, brushing clumps of sweaty hair out of his forehead and wiping the cum and lube off his body with tender motions.

Hyunjin let him, but he remained silent as he turned to his side, hazy-eyed and somewhere else. 

It was late again. Jisung sat next to him, just offering him his presence while studying him in side profile. He found himself thinking _—_ like he so often did _—_ about his face. That whoever created him must have had such a light hand, painting him in a few very broad, very precise strokes, resulting in features expressing such a wide array of emotion generously.

Except now. Now, he couldn’t decode him, he saw a blank sheet. He wondered where he was at the moment, but he didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to rip him out of the little cocoon he’d wrapped himself into, in case he needed to stay there. But after a good twenty minutes had passed without any interaction, he just lowered himself down, sliding arms under his armpits and lifting him to rest against his chest.

"I love you, you know. Don't leave again, please. I can’t take it."

He could feel Hyunjin crying softly into the hollow of his shoulder. While the moonlight dripped in through the window to bathe them in a warm glow, Jisung's hands found purchase on the slim curve of his waist as he pressed himself close to this beautiful but troubled shadow of a human being. Just never close enough.


	12. chrysantemum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Feeling most sorry and upset for real-life-Hyunjin and SKZ lately :c just hoping he is and will be okay and properly supported, because he deserves no less.
> 
> Anyhow, this story continues. Warning for angst, but I hope the fluff will cushion it well. No other warnings except for a small serving of  
> light violence so beware
> 
> Thank you for reading ♡ love hearing your thoughts ♡ take care everyone ♡

**Jisung:** How's my baby doing? Everything okay? [2:35 PM]

The second Jisung lay his currently most prized possession down, the waiting game began. Thumb twiddling, impatient glares cast at Minho (who scrunched his brows at him from across the table and wondered what he did to warrant them) and a slew of worst case scenarios scurrying through his mind.

Hyunjin taking off again on a whim. Hyunjin assaulted and robbed, Hyunjin bleeding out in a ditch, Hyunjin overdosing on the mind-altering substances he claimed to be done with.

But Jisung didn't have to deal with total blackout for long today. When the beautiful little _ding_ arrived, he thanked the heavens above and practically threw himself over the phone again. 

**Hyunjin:** Hey, I just woke from a nap :3 I might read until you get home. I miss you. [2:37 PM]

Jisung poured all his pent up anxiety into a long exhale before tapping a whole novel's worth of how much he missed him back. Safe and sound. For now.

And was Jisung currently coddling Hyunjin bigtime, and acting as if he'd simply fall apart unless he was bubble-wrapped and placed in a box with a huge _handle with care_ scribbled on the side?

Guilty as charged. 

Moreover, he had no intention of stopping anytime soon. Not this time, not after all that happened. If he could, he'd install a baby monitor in his apartment and connect it to a live feed on his phone to make sure he stayed put. 

Pleasant imagery flooded his brain as he pictured how cute Hyunjin must look post-nap. He imagined him yawning and stretching out, only to cast murderous, sleepy glares in all directions before he’d waddle into the kitchen, to tame himself with coffee and the box of leftover noodles waiting for him on the counter.

Sigh. 

Jisung’s thoughts smelled of fresh tulips, his daydreams coloring the off-white walls of the entire college library a pale rose gold. The garden blossomed.

After one quick look at him, Minho determined he’d just transcended this corporal realm and entered some celestial place for star-crossed lovers. A rant might or might not be incoming, too.

It did, within minutes.

"Honestly, I don't think I was ever truly aware of the world around me before I met Hyunjin."

"Oh, yeah. I totally understand," Minho assured.

Well, he didn't, not really. But Jisung was more than happy to explain.

"I feel like I just see everything in a new light, you know?" 

With fingertips pressed together and his voice sounding uncharacteristically grave, he looked very much profound and enlightened. Minho hurried to nod, even though he wasn’t entirely sure he did, still.

"And I'm ashamed I didn't realize before how lucky we really are. All those nights spent clubbing in Gangnam while poor people freeze out on the street, what were we thinking?"

Feeling a little targeted, Minho discreetly slung an arm over his chest, trying to cover the embroidered polo pony that signaled the origins of his hand-knitted sweater. And let's not even discuss what it cost.

"Well, uh...mostly about soju and getting laid," he replied, truthfully, in case Jisung's memory really needed refreshing. "But you're so right, Jisung. We should volunteer at the soup kitchen more."

"Oh, we will Minho, my friend."

Minho nodded fervently, gushing over him; so good, _good going_ Jisung, _good going_. But Jisung wasn't done. This was just the beginning of his rise to a higher level of societal awareness.

"Also, why am I even studying economics?" He motioned to the books and stacks of notes, spread out haphazardly on the table between them. "I don't even like it that much. Or do I?" After picking a book up and examining the title (Capital in the Twenty-First Century) he chucked it to the side again, leaning back with a pout. “What am I even doing here?" 

The question was clearly directed at Minho, who was starting to fall off the wagon a bit. Jisung looked rather expectantly at him, as if he actually thought words of wisdom would fall from his lips like a flock of chirping birds.

“Uh...do you mean like...in the philosophical sense or just like, what are you doing in this library?”

“Any sense.”

"Ah, well, just...just sit tight Jisungie, I'll be right back."

After zig-zagging the maze of bookshelves, hunched over like a hyena on the prowl, Minho finally located the person he was looking for. The group's unfaltering rock, deeply engrossed in a thick volume on classic Marxism. He jolted when he suddenly found Minho hovering next to him, eyes blown wide and voice lowering to an ominous whisper.

"Chris, help. I think Jisung is having an existential crisis."

A few moments later, Jisung felt a careful tap on his back.

"Hey buddy, what's going on?"

"Hey Chris, nah, nothing." He swept a hand over the clutter on the table with disgust, as if it was piles of rotting food. "Just wondering what all this is."

A long lapse of silence passed. When Chris last saw Jisung, which was only twenty minutes ago, he was diligently working away. It was apparent some kind of switch had taken place since then. 

"It's uhm...your notes for the finals."

"Exactly. Who needs them?"

"Well...you do, if you want to pass the exam."

" _Exams,_ " Jisung snorted dramatically. He dug through his notes, one after the other, the miffed pout deepening the more of it he read. Once he was done, he threw it all to hell before Chris could do anything to prevent it. The thick pile scattered like dust in the wind, papers landing in Minho's face and on the floor and absolutely everywhere.

_"Jisung, are you for real?!"_

Chris berated him like a disappointed mother, cursing the mess he’d made that he apparently would have to clean up. But Jisung was absorbed in his phone again, intently staring at it. While he waited for another report from Hyunjin, he started muttering under breath, fingers drumming a choppy beat on the table.

"Numbers and diagrams and yada yada. Such trivial, insignificant things to be thinking about when society is in ruins and the unfortunate suffer."

His company squinted in unison, both of them wondering if he might be experiencing some acute medical emergency at the moment. Other than looking slightly more tattered than usual with his hair bed-mussed and pointing north (and his t-shirt looking to be on backwards) it didn't appear so. What they didn't know was that Jisung had prioritized cuddling with Hyunjin this morning over styling his hair and caring about what rags he slapped on his body. Who needed to look presentable. The new Jisung, a woke being and protector of all, certainly didn't. 

While Chris was in the process of picking up the last of the notes and warning Jisung not to pull any more stupid stunts, Felix came sauntering around the corner. He looked like most of them this time of year; pale, sleep-deprived and in need of a triple fix of caffeine straight into his veins.

"Hey, I'm so fucking tired, anyway what's up."

"Jisung is the new Florence Nightingale of our generation," Minho informed him, after a wary look at the do-gooder. He was pretty much ready for him to jump on the table to whip out a megaphone and deliver a heartfelt speech any second now.

"Oh, nice." Felix peered sideways, not at all surprised by this observation, since he’d listened to Jisung blurt similar things just yesterday. And the day before that. And basically every day since his reunion with Hyunjin.

"So guess domestic bliss with Hyunjin is still ongoing?"

"Yes," Jisung confirmed in one dreamy exhale, twirling the lid of his pen in his hand. "He brings out new sides in me. Like…he inspires me. And stuff."

"Oh yeah," Minho concurred with newfound enthusiasm. "He totally inspires me too, and stuff. One part about him that I find especially inspiring is his —"

Whatever it was remained veiled in mystery. One pointed glare from Chris later, and Minho steered his ship into safer waters.

"... _brain_ ," he ended it, very keen on avoiding another ass whooping, like last weekend when he sent his cherished Buddha to its doom. "It's so very...brainy,” he offered sincerely instead, along with an overly syrupy smile fired at Chris. “Anyway Jisung, do continue."

Thankfully, Jisung was much too infatuated to pay any attention to Minho’s almost-inappropriate remarks. His elbows rested on the table, chin in his palm, his gaze wandering to the opposite side of the library. To a pink sign about clearance, to be exact, pinned above piles and piles of romance novels.

Maybe he should bring one home to Hyunjin.

"I for one totally get what you're saying, Jisungie," Minho declared, with his palm pressed over his heart. "I feel the same way about Yeri. She's so great."

"I saw her earlier, closely entangled with Lucas in the hallway," Felix chimed in again, without even looking up.

"Oh." Minho deflated momentarily. But being the eternal optimist, he quickly lit up again. "Do I smell a threesome?"

The pair of them started arguing about just how gross Minho was on a scale of one to vile, but Jisung wasn't the slightest bit interested in following the dispute. His mind was already traipsing off, far into the future, and he'd be the first to rejoice when the semester was over. Just a month to go, but then again, what did he have to look forward to? Three months worth of internship at his dad's newspaper — aka, slave labor camp.

Maybe he could just somehow slither his way out of that commitment. The cinematic from earlier quickly dissolved to make room for more treasured snapshots; Hyunjin with sun-kissed skin, Hyunjin with hair tossed around by gentle winds, Hyunjin with the sweetness of melting melona lingering on his lips and the same lips wrapping around Jisung's —

"So are you guys okay now?"

Chris chopped through his musings, while the other two continued bickering in the background.

Jisung digressed. Were they? Every time he thought so, it just ended in heartbreak. It had only been three days since they returned from the hotel, but Hyunjin was sprawled out on his couch (so he hoped), stacks of his books occupied the kitchen table and his half-drunken mugs of tea lay forgotten every corner of the apartment.

That just didn't mean much. Jisung thought it did, but it was clear by now the mind of his beloved was a brittle and changeable thing. 

"I don't know Chris, really," he said, truthfully and dejectedly. "I mean...I've offered to try to find him another job or help him start studying or anything he wants…I've offered to book him an appointment to a therapist if there's anything he wants to talk about that he can't talk to me about...I've even asked him if he wants to come to my sister's violin recital, and meet my parents, cause I want us to be…"

Even Minho and Felix had paused at this point, to direct their undivided attention to their downtrodden friend.

"...serious," Jisung finished, propelling sympathetic nods from them both. "Show everyone he's mine."

Hyunjin had seemed dubious to say the least when hearing that last suggestion, and the obvious question had arisen. _What will we tell them, about what I do,_ but Jisung had informed him it didn't matter. A little white lie, or the truth, anything he wanted.

"I've done everything. Everything to make him stay.”

He had. And Chris promised him that he'd done enough.   
  
  


* * *

The support of his friends meant more than Jisung could possibly express, but when he all but stormed his apartment two hours later, he'd already managed to fall deep into a mire of doubt. He was certain he'd be met with another post-it-note — but he didn't end up having to search for long, not for it or the would-be author of such heart-wrenching farewells. Because more precisely, he emerged from the bathroom almost instantly, shower-damp and with a towel tied around his hips.

He was _here._ And he smiled, heartstopping and sweet, and someone please resuscitate Jisung now. 

It took no more than half a second for him to close the distance between them and take him in his arms. Hyunjin's lips parted to greet him; a shy _hello_ that sounded like a soft, melodious rasp, and Jisung suffered again, a frisson of pure electricity shooting down his spine.

"Fuck, you're pretty," he marveled as he reeled him in, repeating it when he was met with opposition. But no, he _was_ , and the air quickly grew heavy as he gingerly raked eyes over his body, over every dip and slope and curve, fingers pressing into his back dimples. But he knew he had to be careful, that this was new again. Even though last weekend brought them closer, Hyunjin's eyes still remained downcast, his movements calculated like those of a skittish animal. He couldn't know for certain, but it felt like he was still wrestling for internal permission to give himself to Jisung fully.

Jisung caught his chin, willing them to lock eyes. "Hey, it's alright. Come here."

The fabric of his shirt absorbed the string of water glistening on Hyunjin's chest as Jisung pressed them flush against each other, his hands straying. Down, down, _down_ to squeeze his ass — just very tenderly. He smirked against Hyunjins lips as he whined into his mouth, feeling his breaths quickening and his entire body pulsing under his palms like a livewire. 

They ended up on the couch, tangled in a heap of limbs on Jisung's initiative — to make up for the height difference and allow for better reach to kiss him, to be exact. But despite the heat flooding between them, he also noticed a nasty shiver knotting Hyunjin's skin with goosebumps.

"You okay?" 

"Just a little cold, sorry," Hyunjin admitted after a while, his hands still wrapped around Jisung's neck.

It was hard, but Jisung contained himself for now, not wanting to overwhelm or hurry him into anything. After racing off to pick up the softest t-shirt and pants he could find, he chose to snuggle up to him instead to ask about his day. It was a habit he'd come to appreciate by now, because everything exiting Hyunjin's mouth — no matter how trivial — was important and worth listening to.

"Are you alright? What did you do all day? Did you have a good nap? What do you wanna eat for dinner?"

Hyunjin positioned himself cross-legged opposite him after getting dressed, both amused and touched by the onslaught of questions.

"I'm good, I haven't done much else than wait for you, honestly. I felt really groggy after my nap, needed a shower."

"You might need another shower later," Jisung mused wickedly. "Oh," he blurted then, galloping to fetch it once he realized. "I brought you a book by the way, hope you haven't read it."

Hyunjin was awestruck once he was handed it, fingering at the sleek hardcover. This was unexpected. The second-hand paperbacks he read were frayed and falling apart at the seams, and he couldn't even recall when he'd last been given a book, by anyone.

" _Wuthering heights_ , wow," he chuckled, toying with the pages. "A classic, but I actually haven't." He looked up at Jisung, his eyes filled with so much more gratitude than was needed for such a humble gift. “Thank you Jisung."

Jisung beamed, promising it was only the first of many. Noticing Hyunjin's other half-finished literary project laying face down on the coffee table — _They both die at the end_ — he nodded at it.

"Have you given up on that one? I thought you'd almost finished it?"

A cryptic expression settled over Hyunjin's face then, one Jisung recognized from so many previous occasions. He glanced at it with something akin to affection, almost as if he was regarding a long lost lover.

"I haven’t. I'm waiting for the right moment to finish it."

"I don't even see the point," Jisung couldn't help but question. "You already know how it ends." He picked it up, holding it up as evidence, along with a crooked smirk. "It says it in the title."

"Well...sometimes there's a certain comfort in knowing how things will end."

A tiny smile played on his lips, but Jisung was — if possible — even more befuddled by this strange statement, suspecting he wasn't talking about novels anymore. Knowing how those ended usually ruined them. But instead of having that discussion now, he just opted on closing the tiny gap between them, to rein him in before he sank too far into contemplation.

"Well I know how I wanna end," he mumbled, once he was looking into the warm, brilliant brown of Hyunjin's eyes again from a front row seat, feeling his heart flutter about wildly. "With you."

* * *

Neither one of them wanted it to end.

One evening later, Hyunjin wished he knew how this particular confrontation would end — but truth be told, he hadn't the slightest of clues.

"I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with you seeing this guy alone, though," Jisung had complained while he watched him drag pants on, all pouty after Hyunjin had thanked him profusely yet again. But his request had been denied. Frankly, it was out of the question, and after being calmed and reassured his phone was fully charged, Jisung reluctantly let him leave alone.

It felt unreal, to be here, to have come this far. Hyunjin had always viewed himself as a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark, incapable of change and lacking any real purpose. Used to surviving on scraps, he never looked further than a few weeks, a few days or even a few hours into the future, because there was no need. Tomorrow was never guaranteed. 

Books had always been his escape, but he never imagined that he'd be able to escape, anywhere. But Jisung had helped him realize the looming possibility, creating a big fat _maybe_ on a blinking billboard at the very center of his brain. And how appealing they were, the ideas planted in his head, tiny colorful promises he latched onto like lifelines keeping him afloat.

And so, dressed in multiple layers — a parka and double sweatshirts, despite the balmy spring evening — he finally ascended the stairs to the second floor of the strip club, coming to a halt in front of Mr Park's office. Bundling up was a conscious decision, to create a shield of fabric and a blunt refusal to allow him access to his body. Not today.

But stepping in here was still like entering a lion's den, with its cunning inhabitant wearing both his Italian silk shirts and his imagined power like a tailored suit. Hyunjin didn't even want to acknowledge how many times his knees had been pressed against the sleek Persian rug, how many times his feigned moans had rolled over the wallpaper or how many times he'd left this office, with his tail between his legs and clutching his hard-earned notes tightly. However many, it was in the past, no use in dwelling.

Mr Park, however, clearly wanted to dwell. A teasing smirk instantly formed on his lips as he spun around, noticing his visitor.

"Well well. You're not working tonight, so to what do I owe the pleasure? Are you short on cash? We can organize something.”

Not even caring about being discreet, he glanced down at his crotch, spreading out as if he ruled the entire planet on top of this dump of a club. Communication between them had always been a one-sided power exchange. Hyunjin never considered himself in a position to put up a fight, regarding anything, but now he could feel months _—_ no, _years_ _—_ worth of pent up anger flaring within, demanding release. 

Alas, he didn't pay the suggestion any heed, choosing to just coolly keep his eyes glued on his face instead.

"I didn't come for that."

Mr Park's stare dropped to his extended hand, but he made no move to take the envelope of cash. Already feeling growing unease, Hyunjin recited the speech he'd memorized beforehand. That he was quitting, that he was grateful for everything Mr Park had done, but that this should make them even. But the longer he went on, the wider Mr Park's incredulous smirk grew. By the end of it, it was obvious this wouldn’t go smoothly at all.

"You, _quitting,_ " he repeated, slowly, as if it was a laughable idea. "So what are you planning to do instead? If I recall correctly, which you know I do, you have a record, not to mention you still have a few months left on this contract."

"No need to worry about what I'll do," Hyunjin gritted to that, not at all prepared for this petty resistance. "And I'll fucking stay for a few months then, but after that I'm _gone_." He didn’t care — or didn’t have the energy — to show a polite front anymore, allowing the irritability to creep up his throat for free reign. This fact didn't slip past Mr Park.

"My goodness. So dramatic and hostile all of a sudden. And wherever did you come by the money to cover the entirety of your debt?"

"You know where, from that rich older guy who picked me up at the club," Hyunjin all but snarled then, before he could prevent it. "I spent the whole weekend with him."

Mr Park had slinked up to him during his brief retelling, and now he hovered just above him, a whiff of sticky cologne tickling Hyunjin's nostrils. The silence burnt and burnt, next to unbearable, until it was broken by his superior.

"Hey, kid?"

"What?"

"Could you do me a favor?"

Hyunjin spat out another _what,_ with way too much venom. But he didn't realize this until in hindsight, and then it was too late.

There was a dull thud and a surprised wince as his shoulder blades hit the wall; not roughly, but with enough force to startle him into submission. Mr Park's fingers clenched around his chin, his voice dripping like wet gravel all over his skin as he leaned in.

"Don't..."

Hyunjin could feel the metal of his rings digging into his jawline and leaving indents, hear every husky, stretched syllable at a thousand decibel. _Fucking dumb idiot_.

"...lie..."

Slender fingers moved closer, tracing the contours of his lips; dark, almost black eyes narrowing as if they were studying a painting in need of analyzing. Hyunjin didn't shift. Even when he was about to gag.

"...to me."

It was over as soon as it had begun. The envelope was snatched from his sweaty hand, his throat left tinder-dry, words stolen from him. Several minutes passed as they remained in a tense draw, Mr Park regarding him from a few feet away, his face back to solemn. Almost as if nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place.

" _I'm_ _—"_

"That rich guy you talked about?” After the interruption, the man paused theatrically, allowing Hyujin to reluctantly nod. “He came back to complain. Said you ditched him for a better offer."

Hyujin kept his eyes trained on the rug. It was official, he was an _idiot,_ and the next statement _—_ delivered with striking accuracy _—_ confirmed it.

"Giving the club a bad rep, and lying to me. You were seen checking into the Four seasons last Friday, in the company of a young dark-haired guy."

There was no point in even asking how he knew that. He had eyes everywhere. Mr Park leant back against the dark mahogany desk, head tilted in mild curiosity. 

"Who was it?"

"Just another customer. Sorry for lying, I didn't think it mattered."

It did, he knew as much by now, since the fact had been so eloquently stressed. With arms crossed defensively over his chest, Hyunjin watched Mr Park pick up a cigar from an engraved metal box and throw a long, contemplative glance sideways. 

"Must have been some loaded youngster."

The clock on the far wall ticked loudly, like a never-ending pulse, blending with the sloshing of Hyunjin’s own blood in his veins. _Don't ask anything else about Jisung._

"In any case, thank you for this, really appreciate it. We love an honest, stand-up citizen." He could hear the envelope being ripped open, the contents checked, and the lighter clicking as the cigar was lit. "But it would be a shame to see you go, though. You're my best dancer. So why don't you reconsider?"

 _His best dancer_. More like, his best money maker. Striding up to Hyunjin nonchalantly, Mr Park ghosted fingers over his cheek _—_ a gesture that might have been interpreted as loving if one didn’t know better _—_ before retreating again, leaving nothing but a cloud of smoke behind.

There was a heavy _thump_ as he sank into his chair. Hyunjin kept his face composed despite the gyre his mind was falling into. _No one but Jisung was allowed to touch him like that._

"Oh and uh, Hyunjin? Look at me."

He did, on a strained inhale, seeing Mr Park's face blank, legs casually slung up on the desk.

"I doubt I have to remind you of all the times I scraped you off the street, patched you up and gave you a place to stay. Like the time that cop broke your arm. What was his name again? Choi?"

 _Choi._ Hyunjin provided a stale nod. A phantom ache shot through his limb, sickly greens and purples blooming on his skin at the mere mention. That’s what it felt like. Broken in two different places, and it took such an awfully long time to heal.

"Gruesome," Mr Park tutted after a thoughtful puff of his cigar. "And don't your friends get out of jail soon? They didn't seem very happy with you last time they saw you."

Hyunjin just kept his deadpan expression, wondering where he was going with this. If he even wanted to know.

"Wouldn't really call them friends, but yeah."

"Indeed. Well, give it some thought. Trust me, you want to stay on my good side."

The soft creak of leather made him raise his chin just in time to see the chair swivel around. Mr Park's hand emerged from the side the moment after, to signal the immediate end of the discussion with a flap.

"See you Saturday, pretty boy."

* * *

Twenty seconds later, Hyunjin stumbled out on the sidewalk, lapping up several breaths of crisp air before even beginning to form a coherent thought.

He hated the guy. Hated that he could disarm him so easily, make him feel so _small_ ; that he didn't even have to get overly forceful, didn't have to throw insults around to achieve it. All he had to do was open his mouth, to let poisonous spiders crawl out and spin their sticky webs all around him.

Rain had started coming down sideways while he was occupied, fitting his current state of mind perfectly. Not cold by any means, mild and gentle even. But it was still enough to saturate him within seconds while he just wandered aimlessly, trying to descend to an acceptable level of calm before returning home to Jisung.

His feet moved by their own accord, his doc martens wading through the puddles slowly forming on the sidewalks. There was no need to count the streets; an internal map existed within him, ingrained on his amygdala since forever. But when he finally looked up _—_ after a good thirty minutes of drifting _—_ he wished he'd paid attention to where he was going. He was standing on a desolate side street in one of the most rundown neighborhoods in the city, frequented only by creatures of the night.

He'd been here many times. The echoes of wasted yesterdays always lingered, foul mouths and gloved hands pummeling him when there was no need.

Peering through the flurries of rain to the other side of the street, he saw a hologram form, a washed out replica of himself leaning against a dumpster, an ugly bruise sprouting along his jaw and throat. His fingers automatically raised to his face, to drag over the intact skin there. But then, in the frigid winter, he'd been barely clothed, his sweatshirt prickled with his own blood. 

His arms had been forced behind his back, one of them twisted until breaking point, and cuffed. Faint cries _—_ _his_ cries _—_ were audible, crystals of misery falling from his eyes to join the wet cascades disappearing down the sewers. He hadn't done anything to warrant this, but it didn't matter. After one sadistic jerk delivered by Officer Choi's hand, his frail bones had still splintered and snapped, just before his colleague arrived on site. Present day-Hyunjin could see the two uniform-clad men circling him like vultures, their voices sounding like sinister whispers in the howling wind.

_"You broke his arm? Why on earth?"_

_"He was being violent, resisting me."_

_"He's like 130 pounds, what the hell could he possibly do to_ _—"_

_"Looks to be drugged, junkies are always unpredictable."_

In the distance, Hyunjin heard himself whimper and choke on a sob, stating his innocence like a mantra. _“I wasn't, I wasn't, I wasn't, I didn't do anything_ _—_ _”_

The scene faded.

What the suspected crime was, he had no recollection of. Just that the world was sluggish and delayed and it _hurt_.

He turned, taking off towards Jisung’s building without catching his breath once, with the shadows of all his former enemies licking at his heels as he ran.

* * *

"Hey, woah? How are you soaked?"

Jisung plopped up the moment Hyunjin dragged himself over the threshold. Ignoring him at first, he jerkily cringed himself out of his coat and the top layer of sweatshirts, small pools already having formed around his feet once he was left in nothing but his t-shirt.

"It started raining —”

"Huh, what the hell, I didn’t even notice, I was cooking...why didn't you call me, I could have picked you up?"

Hyunjin pushed out a shrill laugh then, because why couldn't anything ever be simple? Jisung's demands filtered through his own spurts of hysteria, followed by footsteps leaving and returning, and finally, a towel thrown around his shoulders.

"What _happened_ there, Hyunjin?"

With a placating smile, or so he hoped — he told Jisung that he'd _quit,_ that he'd only stay till the end of his contract, that it all went well. But he was a full blown paradox, just like always. He didn't notice the transgression in his stare, the mist in his eyes that made them water and made his lower lashes heavy even after he'd been toweled dry, but Jisung did. And he watched, each stitch unravel, felt his heart crack and bleed as Hyunjin sagged to the hallway floor, hands planted on the rug as he started hacking, his lungs sounding like they rattled back and forth in his body.

“No, no, listen," Jising commanded gently after sinking down to his level, focusing on his panicked, flighty eyes. "Breathe with me, you're okay. Hear me?"

He stroked the high of his cheek with his thumb, focusing his mind on keeping a nice, even pattern he could mimic. Inhale, hold, exhale. The bulgogi he’d been busy with just before Hyunjin fell through the door sizzled and begged for his attention on the stove, but it could wait.

“With me, baby, come on,” he encouraged again, fingers painting pretty patterns over his back, until the tremors racking him slowed, only to cease altogether. Once the fog cleared from his eyes Jisung saw the sky just before a storm in his gaze — swirling, gray clouds trying to decide whether or not they wanted to downpour, but eventually scattering, and he fell quiet and calm in his arms.

"That's good. Good job. No need to panic."

"I'm okay," Hyunjin wheezed, voice worn from the coughing fit. Jisung's careful inquiries came from the other side of him, blending with the soft drizzle from outside.

"What happened with your boss? Did that goon do something to you? Because say the word and I'll end him."

 _Low-key slammed me against a wall_ , is what Hyunjin didn’t say _._ It wouldn’t do anyone any good. Jisung would just stomp in and end up on Mr Park's blacklist, and he couldn't allow that.

He nosed over Jisung’s shoulder, feeling fingers climb the nodules of his spine through his shirt like it was a staircase, nonverbally urging him forward. 

" _No_ , he's just, you know…a bit of an ass. Well, a lot. A lot of an ass."

Even though he agreed fully with that verdict, Jisung still suspected that wasn't the whole story. He'd be dumb and blind not to realize, and to be honest he wanted Hyunjin to cry as much as he needed and get it over with, like the pain of ripping off a bandaid. But there were other ways to treat such wounds no matter how deep they ran. Thus, after scuttling off to the kitchen, he returned with valued treasures.

He threw himself down again, wrapper already off the cold treat in his hand, only to coax it into Hyunjin's mouth and sit back with hopeful eyes to see if it had any effect. It did. The sniffling stopped, replaced by a sparkling grin as he dug teeth into it.

“Are you just gonna feed me melona whenever I’m sad?”

“Yes," Jisung informed him in one nonchalant breath. Hyunjin smiled so vibrantly and it was so contagious that another idea formed in his head, easily rolling over his lips.

"The weather forecast promised sunshine and blue skies tomorrow. I'll skip my classes and we can go do whatever you want. Get a bunch of takeout and go for a picnic or to the pool or for a road trip anywhere, anything you want. Just you and me."

Hyunjin erupted in vicious protesting, that he couldn't _possibly_ skip class, no, _no way_ — but he was promptly silenced.

"I really don't care," Jisung overruled him with a carefree shrug. "Like come on, the semester is nearly over and I want to spend the day with you. I want to spend _every_ day with you."

The ugly clump of memories from before shattered into specks of fairy dust, unable to harm Hyunjin any longer. Convinced, he nodded for all he was worth, drinking up the sincerity of Jisung's features and the soothing hum of his voice.

He thought of his mother then; a bringer of white light and warmth, just like Jisung. The way she used to sing to Hyunjin when he was a child had blurred over the years, and he hated himself for it — he couldn't recall what it sounded like. The melody grew forgotten as the chaos that surrounded him turned into a song of its own, lyrics like spilled ink over shredded paper, spawning and twisting into a narrative of his life.

It had always plagued his mind, what she'd think if she saw him, tinged blue and stained red, how she'd shed endless tears for him and beg him onto another path. He'd sometimes raise his chin to the vast infinity above, as the throbbing in his bones faded to be replaced by short-lived, merciful bliss, to mumble a quiet plea for forgiveness. Not to condemn him when he showed himself weak again.

_Don't think too badly of me, because I thought the world of you // don't hate me, because I am lost._

But he knew. That she wouldn't cry now. That she would have been fond of Jisung, with his unfaltering stubbornness and dedication even when he didn't always know the way, his lame jokes and easy smile that breathed life into Hyunjin's existence. She would have considered him a good decision, Hyunjin's _only_ great decision, far greater than the sum of all his regrets.

"I want that," he said, each word earnest and feather-light. "I want to be yours."

Relishing in the way Jisung's lips cracked open to reveal the rounded set of teeth and his eyes, narrowing to pretty archways, Hyunjin dragged himself as close to him as humanly possible. He felt thick arms he loved wrap around him; touching him here, there and everywhere; and lips, whispering small _,_ wet _I love you's_ against the base of his throat, breaking in like orange hues and yellow rays, like the warm promise of a summer's day.


End file.
